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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24414307">Redamancy; Kyman</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaythenerd/pseuds/kaythenerd'>kaythenerd</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Coming of Age, Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love/Hate, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, Romance, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:55:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24414307</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaythenerd/pseuds/kaythenerd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"You said you wanted to see her and I got scared, okay!" Kyle blurted. "What was I supposed to think?!"</p><p>"That I'm fine!" The brunet yelled back. "I'm just doing something!"</p><p>'You're not fine!' He wanted to scream. 'Its like I can see you falling apart right in front of me and I'm scared to death there's nothing I can do to stop it!'</p><p>~</p><p>In which Kyle learns that Eric was never as simple as he thought he was, in probably the worst way possible.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>265</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well here we go with another angsty Kyman fic. Rather than Kyman focused its gonna be pretty centric, unlike my other stories this one focuses most on the main characters. If you didn’t read the tags I’ll include a trigger warning here: this story contains character death (family), references to ptsd and trauma, as well as depression and one instance of self harm. That said, I promise it gets happier :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had been raining for the past four days.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The town of South Park had been taken entirely off guard and flooded with a rainstorm that lasted a bit too long to be a normal spring storm. The rivers had risen considerably but today was the first day they'd gone down and Kyle would be damned if he didn't go out for his normal walk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed as the light sprinkle started to pick up a bit and pulled the edges of his hoodie out, away from his face. His feet scrunched in the mud that had been pushed onto the sidewalks either by people walking or flowing water. Water had seeped into his shoes and soaked his socks by this point.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You need to go home, idiot.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He scolded himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mother would no doubt be upset if his shoes couldn't be dried and it turned out he ruined them. He could see the fit she'd throw while he tried to defend himself and offer that he was trying to exercise. It had never mattered to her </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>things happened anyways. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Picking up the pace, he treaded across the street to the next block. He could be back to his house in ten minutes if he walked fast enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulled out his phone from his pocket to check the notification while he walked. Three texts from Stan sat at the top, along with a missed call from Kenny and a voicemail- Kyle assumed- from the blonde as well. He pursed his lips. Part of him always got worked up over these things and it mostly turned out to be a forgotten test he'd promise to help study for or simply the fact that the boys were bored without him. By now he should have been used to the two blowing him up, Kenny especially, since they did it so often. He considered ignoring the texts until he got home but curiosity tended to get the best of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stan 8:17 pm</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Dude did you hear?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-I heard the sirens go right past my house! You good?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Yo answeeerrr meeee</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kyle frowned, the words staring blankly up at him but not truly sinking in. He couldn't fully make sense of them. He swiped his notifications down again and clicked on the voicemail.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kenny's slightly muffled voice called out the instant he put the phone to his ear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Hey I saw on the news there was some sort of drive-by shooting! Stan said he tried to get a hold of you but you weren't answering, when you can lemme know if you're good!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fear settled into his stomach and it left him feeling almost sick. Was his family alright? Stan said he head the sirens go by his house, but there was no telling from which direction. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait. No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>If something had happened at his house Stan could have seen it or heard the sirens stay there, so it must have been someone down the road. It had been twenty minutes since Stan's text, so the ambulance would most likely be gone by now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He heard loud whooping in the distance, undercut but the harsh screeching of tires. His head turned to watch as an old pickup truck swerved onto the road ahead of him and flew quickly past. Unsure of whether or not it was dangerous to stare or keep his phone held up he moved fast, shoving his phone in his pocket and picking up a steady pace walking down the sidewalk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Look like an innocent bystander.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His mind urged. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You never know if they could be the ones that did it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They continued quickly down the road, their whooping echoing in the quiet night air. From the corner of his eye Kyle could see at least three sets of arms hanging out the windows, fists pumping. He risked a glance and recognized one of the boys from a few months back, one of Cartman's ugly schemes that involved some very pissed off seniors and things Kyle preferred not to remember. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shuddered visibly once the truck had gone behind him, pushing forward to get to his house even quicker than before. The wind chilled him and the rain poured even harder. He took a breath in through his nose and tried not to think about the fact he's just walked by a truck full of possible murderers.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ~1~</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thought I should mention that I’m only on season seven of the show, so I haven’t seen anything outside of a select few episodes past that that I watched with my friend. Basically I don’t know all the lore and shiz to include in the story XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Eric Cartman wondered just how much longer he'd be able to stand public school. He scoffed and walked a little faster past a couple making out against the lockers and pushed his way into his next class. He didn't really care that he was two minutes late.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He'd been wandering the halls trying to find service on his shitty brick of a phone, service that he'd been forced to pay for with leftover allowance money since his mother was short on cash for the time being. It was mind-numbingly frustrating, an emotion he'd become quite used to with his mother, to deal with how little she cared for him and his needs. For the past couple years he'd been in and out of work, constantly getting fired, trying to pay for anything he wanted outside of food- and sometimes even that was hard to come by.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes at his own frustrations as he sat down. The weight of his phone in his pocket was heavier than it should have been, it always felt like he was missing something when he couldn't use it and he hated it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The teacher strolled in late, after the second bell had already rung. Her class was used to that. What they weren't used to was her sudden, unusual, and almost unsettling chipper attitude. She piped an excited good morning to her students and filtered through some things on her desk with a smile on her face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eric sneered to himself, resting his chin on his hand. He fiddled with his pencil absentmindedly and tried to think about anything other than how much he didn't want to be there. Over the years he'd found out he was good at tuning people out. Their conversations or side comments could become background noise if he tried hard enough. It was strange to disconnect, but somehow more comforting than being fully aware. It was also nice to imagine he could leave humanity and just be by himself, and that seemed to be as close as he was going to get.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I seriously don't understand why I have to be surrounded by people anyways. Why can't they just go away?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hummed a random pop song to himself quietly, underneath the bustle of students in the room. The teacher was just sitting down to begin her lesson. He kept humming subtly, eyes wandering across the floor and feet moving to give himself something to do. The teacher's lecture faded into the back of his mind and- for a short while- he was almost at peace.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;~&gt;</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kyle paced in front of the large window in the library, watching the raindrops cascade down the smooth surface. It had slowed down today but only a little. Out in the field beside the school their drain valley was nearly half full of water.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wrang his hands on the hem of his jacket nervously. He knew he should be using his study period to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>study</span>
  </em>
  <span> but his nerves left him shaky and he needed to move. After this period he'd be going to history to take a semester exam, one of the last ones leading up to finals for his junior year. People always told him nothing mattered but his senior exams but the idea of messing up his transcript even a little made him too anxious, so naturally he freaked himself out over anything that wasn't a normal test. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Twisting on his feet, he glanced out the window again. He tried to imagine himself as a small droptlet of water flowing calmly down to come to rest at the bottom. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Things are going to be fine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He told himself with a deep breath in. He pivotted around and slumped down in one of the library's circular tables. His bag was sat beside the chair, full to the brim with notebooks and folders of all his schoolwork. He pulled one notebook out to study his history vocab, wishing he'd taken the time to create flashcards on his phone so he could study easier. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>While he looked them over his mind wandered to the truck that had passed him last night, and the murder of one still unconfirmed person. It was strange to see on the news with seemingly how little information they had. Kyle had pieced together that there must have been someone else in the car but no one had been reported missing since then and there were no search parties or reports going up about anything. The story had been reported once: an unrecognizable woman had been shot in the face and torso several times with a shotgun, she was found in her underclothes in the passenger seat of a car parked up in the mountains further from town. It would not have been seen from inside the town itself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He frowned at himself for being so curious and concerned about a crime that had nothing to do with him. It was interesting, especially considering something like it hadn't happened in South Park for years. The oddities and bizarre events had for the most part settled down since Kyle moved on from elementary school and he liked it better that way. Yet still, this particular event was both concerning and mildly interesting to look into and try to figure out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The seat creaked when he leaned back on it, fingers gripping tighter around his notebook. "Quit thinking about it for now," he whispered softly. He set the notebook down and tilted forward though he knew for a fact he shouldn't slouch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Biting his pencil to busy himself he studied the different notesheets and vocab words they'd been given for the test for the next half hour. Two people came and went from the library casually while he studied- he'd become so focused he wasn't even sure if they'd gotten books or not. Around the end of the period his phone vibrated loudly on the table, an incoming text from Stan, while he put his books away. He sighed and swiped away the notification right when the bell rang. Whatever drama Stan was dealing with during class (undoubtedly Wendy-related) could wait until he finished his test, when history facts weren't spiraling around in his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Quickly, he rushed down the halls to his history room and filed in behind a few other students just entering. He was one of the first to sit down and get his pencil out, but he could see others in the room that looked as nervous as he was. It was oddly comforting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The rest itself was actually rather boring. Kyle found his eyes drooping by the time he'd gotten to the last few questions, a couple small essays ending with a final bank of words to find in a jumble and be matched with their definitions. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Honestly. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He rolled his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is a lot easier than I made it seem.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He turned that packet over when he finished and waited for the bell to rush and turn it in on the way out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He scrambled through the halls to the bathroom on the second floor, the only clean and comfortable bathroom in the entire building due to it being destroyed a couple years ago by a group of angry sophomores with sledgehammers. Kyle remembered being excited seeing the new toilets and sinks brought in to replace the old ones. Though he knew as well it was only a matter of time before this bathroom suffered the same awful fate of the others. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He picked the stall at the very end, pulling out his phone as he sat. Idly, he scrolled through his notifications. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not a minute after the door squeaked open and what sounded like one pair of feet shuffled in and locked themselves in a stall far away from his. The silence in the room became more evident and Kyle noticed his effort to breathe and shuffle quieter so he wouldn't be noticed. He tilted his head slightly and clicked a notification from Twitter, a tweet from one of his favourite basketball players. The loud echo of a phone ringing nearly made him jump off the toilet, but it didn't take him more off guard than the voice that followed it a second later.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, so this piece of shit </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>work," Cartman's familiar grate bounced off the walls. He didn't sound aware that there was anyone else in the room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kyle thought back to years ago, around the time when South Park's crazy events started to wind down, when Cartman had been admitted into a child correctional facility in seventh grade. He'd been gone for three months and when he came back the number of times he tried to murder someone or pull off some awful scheme had dropped to zero. Back then Kyle had found it weirder than anything that had happened in town before.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Since then Cartman remained calm but ever-so annoying and rude. A couple months prior the friend group had gotten into a huge fight over how relentlessly mean Cartman was and Stan had been the first to mention dropping the brunet. Kenny disapproved at first but then Cartman called him poor a couple times and suddenly they were all on board with tossing him out of the group. Kyle had barely seen or talked to him since, and when he did the conversation ended quickly and was undercut with a lot of sass on both ends. In all honesty Kyle would probably have been fine with never having to deal with Cartman's shit ever again. But they still had an entire year together once this one ended, so it was inevitable. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The toilet flushed loudly as Cartman's phone kept ringing and only after his stall door was unlocked did the brunet answer. "Hello?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kyle held his phone closer to him and frowned to himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"South Park police?" The other boy drew, annoyed. "What the hell are you doing calling me?!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stan's text flashed through Kyle's mind and his eyes opened a bit wider, his fingers moving to quickly open up the message. More aggravated yelling echoed off the walls. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span> I heard about the murder last night!" A pause. "No, I was at a friend's house! Fuck if I'd stay home!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Unexpectedly, Kyle's heart began thumping harder as his eyes read over the words on his screen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stan 10:44 am</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-Kyle! They identified the body from last night, it's Cartman's fucking mom!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Silence settled over the room. Kyle stared. He wasn't sure what else to do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Wha-" Cartman gasped harshly inwards a couple times. "You're lying! You're fucking lying! Shut up!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Against everything he knew Kyle felt a stab of pity for the brunet. His body tensed up and he imagined Liane Cartman sprawled out in the passenger seat of a car with blood running down her body. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Unrecognizable" </span>
  </em>
  <span>the news had said. He couldn't think of anything crueler that could happen to anyone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Cartman cried, voice breaking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In an instant Kyle was up, buttoning his pants and opening the stall door to walk out into the open floor of the bathroom. He found Cartman poised to throw his phone full force at the wall. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Woah, what the hell are you doing?" He croaked awkwardly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cartman jolted around. His face was flushed red and even from several feet away Kyle could see the beginnings of tears glistening in his eyes. "What-" he choked on his own breath. "Get- get out of here!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kyle pursed his lips. Truly, he didn't care about Cartman. He didn't care what the boy did or where he went or what he said. He didn't think he'd care if anything bad happened to him either. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But it's not fair. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He frowned. "Your mom-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I said get out!" Cartman shoved him hard and his back hit the wall. His teeth clacked together painfully, leaving him almost stunned. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In all the years he'd known the brunet, Kyle expected him to cry a lot. Cartman actually cried a lot more than a normal person. But looking at him now seemed entirely different, he'd just lost his mom and he had no idea. For the longest time Kyle had actually been convinced Cartman didn't care about his mom at all, he didn't make it seem like he did. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kyle's hands twitched with the urge to shove him back. He remembered all the years of fights and arguments, and he knew how he and Cartman had never really got along. He wanted to yell at Cartman. To insult him and be aggressive back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He swallowed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm sorry.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His fists clenched. The words were on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't bring himself to say them. Did he really mean them? Would Cartman even believe him if he tried to say it? He met the brunet's eyes, furious and overwhelmed, it was written all over his face. His hands were shaking and the tears had begun to fall leaving wet streaks on his flushed cheeks. Kyle watched him, he watched Cartman shrivel up, his expression become thin and his eyes scrunch up painfully. He fell to his knees on the floor and began to sob.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Get out-" he cried. "Get out!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kyle pressed himself up against the wall. His fingers grasped on the cold tile as his mind raced, feeling the chill nearly down to the bone. For once he was entirely unsure of anything he could say or do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So he said nothing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He gritted his teeth and slipped past the sobbing brunet, heeding his wish and exiting the bathroom swiftly. His footsteps echoed in the quiet hall and he realized he'd probably missed the bell during the confusion. He turned his gaze to the stairs that came down closest to the front office, where he could tell a counselor or someone that Cartman was having a breakdown in the bathroom. He bit his lip, and then turned to walk down the other side of the hall to his next class. There was a final coming up in that class soon anyways.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. ~2~</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I write too much angst XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Eric?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The boy shifted, annoyed, and rearranged the dolls in front of him in their seats. "Don't mind her, Polly Prissy Pants," he dismissed. "Our tea will get cold if we wait too long to drink it!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He used his hand to bounce the doll a little, putting on a high voice. "Of course, Eric!" He chimed happily for her. "I wouldn't want your </span>
  <em>
    <span>delicious</span>
  </em>
  <span> tea to go to waste!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Eric, sweetie! It's time for dinner!" The voice called up to him once again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes and sank down on his bulky legs on the floor. In the past couple years he'd gotten too big to attempt sitting in the little seats his dolls used. "But mooooom!" He cried back in his signature whine. "I'm playing!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Footsteps reverberated on the walls, heading up the stairs and down the hall to his room. He rushed to lock his door before she got to it but it was open before he reached it. His mother towered over him in the doorway, her ever-present sweet and placid look sitting on her face. "Poopsy-kins," she hummed. "Mommy has to go out tonight so I made you your favourite! You should come eat while I get ready."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He groaned. "But I don't want to!" It was pointless. His mother had already walked out of the room and down the hall to her own. Her door shut loudly and it echoed across the quiet hall. He frowned and fell back onto his back on the floor, his arms spread out wide. She always did this, it wasn't even the first time that week. He knew he should quit letting it get to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eric felt sick. His hand gripped the worn wood of the door frame as he leaned against it. His stomach had been churning for the last hour, with what he didn't know. He didn't understand why they made him go.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The faculty had found him after he'd spent upwards of twenty minutes in the bathroom crying uncontrollably. They must have received a call too because they knew and they dragged him into the guidance counselor's car despite his protests to take him down to the police station and see his mom. He wished he could rip out their throats himself for making him do that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The image had not left his mind since he'd ran from the building. The room was separate from where she was, a thin window of glass being the only barrier between him and his own mother, lying on a table under a cloth. He'd watched for a long moment, in vain, to see the rise and fall of her breathing that he'd seen from under her bed covers. On the nights she actually stayed, at least.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An officer approached the table and nodded to one of the ones on Eric's side of the room. It was the only preparation he'd gotten for them to lift the cloth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He'd never felt something like it before, the way his entire chest, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>heart</span>
  </em>
  <span>, convulsed harshly. He couldn't look for more than a second and yet it had stuck in his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She had laid there motionless with her arms at her sides. Her face looked like it had been bashed in with bricks, red holes dotting every inch of it to the point that no normal skin remained. Her features had been entirely destroyed and Eric had not looked long enough to see if she even still had her eyes. There was no blood but her flesh gleamed brightly under the light of the room. He'd never seen anything more horrifying.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking about it now made him teeter on his footing. His fingers tried to wrap around the door frame but there was nothing he could have grabbed in time. His knees hit the floor of his bedroom and he clutched an arm around his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn't sure where it had all gone wrong. How one night he'd walked out the door without saying goodbye to his mother and stayed casually at a friend's only to find her practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>destroyed </span>
  </em>
  <span>on a table less than a day later. In truth he wasn't completely sure how to take it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stared at the spot on his floor where he'd always held those tea parties, remembering how his mom would always check on him and act sweet. She cared for him but then she'd leave and be gone for hours or sometimes days without any contact. Should he be mad? He leaned back on his heels and his back brushed against the wall. Should he have been angry with her instead of becoming a sobbing mess on the bathroom floor? Should he have screamed at her dead body how stupid she was and how she was a terrible parent? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Frowning, he reached up and yanked his beanie off his head and threw it at the wall with a yell. He smashed his fist into the floor in frustration and when it didn't release enough of the pressure inside of him he did it again. One the third time the bones in his hand cracked painfully, causing him to recoil into the wall. His feet fell in a heap in front of him. Slowly, he bent his fingers and looked over them to make sure he hadn't actually broken anything, although he wasn't sure that was possible, but it damn sure did hurt. He groaned, unsure of what to do now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His phone buzzed in his pocket several times and he pulled it out with half a mind to toss it into the wall like he'd tried to earlier. A text from an unknown number appeared at the top of his screen. He opened it apprehensively, for all he knew it could be funeral details or some stupid orphanage coming to pick him up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped, his eyes glazing over with the realization that now he was alone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Why hadn't he thought about that before now?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes refocused on his phone screen to read the message, but not before he sniffed and wiped his nose grossly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Unknown 3:30 pm</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-Are you okay?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-My mom told me to ask you so don't think I care or anything.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-Sorry that was rude. It's Kyle.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-I doubt that you care.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eric sneered. At least the redhead was right about that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck off-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He typed back, fingers flying, then tossed the phone across his floor with a thump. He pulled himself up to stand and collapsed onto his bed, sliding his wet jacket down his arms. The rain hadn't let up and he'd been dumb enough to run the entire way home so he could escape everything.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's bullshit. This is all bullshit. Why'd it have to fucking happen to me?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shut his eyes to block everything out. Within the next several days his entire world would turn completely around, he would have to move, deal with his mother's funeral, probably transfer schools if he went to stay with any of his family, and the entire would would all of the sudden be faking pity for the cruel boy who'd just lost his "crack whore" of a mom. If he could get at least one hour of sleep maybe things could be quiet for a while and he wouldn't have to worry about it. At least he hoped.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>&lt;~&gt;</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Liane Cartman, age 40, died on the night of April 10th, 2020."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eric crumpled the ends of the newspaper in his hands, feeling his stomach begin to churn once again. He skipped past her life story and supposed "hobbies" and "jobs" to the last paragraph.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"She leaves behind her son, Eric Cartman, to an uncertain future. On Friday the town of South Park plans to gather and hold a funeral for her, when she is to be laid to rest away from her family in Nebraska. As of now, no statements have been made on the ownership of her home or where her son will go once she is buried."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He growled a little as he read. How ridiculous was it that the destruction of his family and his entire world would be made public in such a casual way. He wondered if people were laughing right now, reading the paper and remembering his mother and how she slept around, and not caring where he himself ended up. And why should they? When he was younger Eric had wreaked havoc on the town of South Park. His many schemes and pranks and atrocities had led to disaster after disaster. He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he actually preferred having a chance to leave without anyone acknowledging him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Besides Kenny, who had shown up on his doorstep the day before, and Eric had slammed the door right in his face before he could say anything. He locked it and ignored Kenny incessant knocking for the next few minutes with a couch cushions pressed over his ears. He knew Kenny didn't really care. Much like Kyle, he'd probably been advised to go over by his parents and check on Eric as a given act of- well maybe not kindness but just general human behavior. Eric had never understood why people felt the need to check on others when their loved ones died. Shouldn't it just be up to them to deal with it? Why did they have to invade his space when they never bothered to before. It was like they only cared if something bad happened to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He remembered months before when he and his friends had fallen out. Eric had been particularly rude that day since he was pissed off about not receiving a game he ordered online and being unable to get a refund. His mother had left around mid-day to "go shopping" and later in the evening Kenny invited everyone over to play the very game Eric couldn't get. He almost didn't go, but staying home had always been lonely and he'd rather have someone to rip on when he was pissed off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So he went. He got there after Stan and Kyle showed up nearly twenty minutes later because he said his brother wouldn't leave him alone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The details after that blurred a bit, considering many of the friend's arguments were the same over the years. Kenny kept bragging about saving up for the game (he worked two jobs as far as Eric knew) and Stan and Kyle kept praising it and him for getting it so early. Eric had sat, thinking about what his mom could be doing and whether or not she would come home. He remembered thinking about how dumb it was that he couldn't get the game, the one thing he'd bought with the money left over from the single paycheck his last job had gotten him the month before. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And he blew up. For several minutes they had argued until Stan shushed them all and offered to stop hanging out with Eric. At first Eric had been taken aback, even Kenny looked shocked before he tried to defend him and before Eric had glared at him and insulted- if he remembered correctly- the blonde's family, his house, his belongings, and Kenny himself for all being shit. By now he could agree that it was overboard. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The four hadn't hung out together since. Truthfully it shocked Eric that Kenny would show up at his house at all. He'd lost a family member, sure, but that didn't mean anyone had to pretend to care. He wondered what would have happened if he'd let Kenny speak. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Whatever. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tossed the newspaper onto the table beside the couch and folded himself inwards to hug his knees. All he could think to do was stare at the blank yellow walls of his living room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How much longer am I going to be here?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He wondered, lips pursing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The police will probably come for me any day now. And it's not like this stupid fucking town would let me get a job to support myself, capitalist assholes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed. His mind drifted to his room upstairs, where his phone still lied on the carpet where he'd thrown it and his laptop was tucked into the drawer next to his bed. A frown pulled at his lips. "Maybe…" he mumbled aloud to himself, the sound of his own voice scaring him a bit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stood and made his way up the stairs, shoving any and all thoughts of his mother and his old friends out of his mind. Doing so should have been a lot easier than he thought.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. ~2~</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just to let you know this story will most likely be edited in the future, and I'll let you guys know in notes when I'm planning on going back and editing, so plan on coming back to check at some point in the next couple months cause Lord knows I suck at consistent writing PFFT-</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You should go check on him, Kyle." His mother had advised with quiet concern written all over her. </p><p>The day the body of Ms. Cartman had been identified, Kyle had come home to find his own mother with swollen eyes on the couch. His father would not be home for another hour, and Kyle knew he'd have to deal with her grief on his own for a bit. </p><p>Liane had begun attending his mother's book club meetings several years ago and remained a somewhat common attendee since. Kyle wasn't completely sure how well they knew each other but if he and Cartman had been friends for long enough there had to be something more than the bond of an acquaintance there. </p><p>It had been almost a full week, and the funeral was set for the next day. Kyle had yet to come up with his own opinion of the situation but he knew some part of him missed Cartman's mother a bit. He'd grown up surrounded by her presence when they went to the brunet's house. It wasn't exactly something he could forget.</p><p>"But I told you what happened to Kenny a couple days ago, mom," he said. "Cartman slammed the door on him, I really don't think he'd let me in."</p><p>Her face drooped in pity. "The poor boy is probably devastated. You'll have to make the first move if you want to get anywhere with him."</p><p>Kyle was admittedly shocked at his mother's concern for the boy. Cartman had been particularly rude to her ever since they were kids and though nothing had happened for several years he figured she would still carry her distaste for him. Nevertheless she seemed as concerned as she would be for anyone else. </p><p>He frowned. "He'll lock the door before I can say anything. You know him."</p><p>"Kyle that's mean," she scolded. "Besides," she sighed and ran a hand down her face. She disappeared into the kitchen, coming back a moment later with something small in her hand. She tossed it to him. "If all else fails, you have that."</p><p>He turned a key over in his hand and ran his fingers over the grooves, then glanced up at her with one eyebrow raised.</p><p>"Liane gave it to me a couple years ago one day when she asked me to watch Eric. She never asked for it back, and I'd almost forgotten."</p><p>He couldn't have seen a way in which this would go well at all but he agreed regardless. Of course he ended up putting it off for the entire evening after school had ended. Cartman had still not shown up and two of his teachers had asked if he'd seen the brunet. They also told him they'd asked Stan and Kenny and they had nothing to offer either. One advised him to check on Cartman and "look after him during this difficult time". Kyle really did not understand why everyone wanted him to be so concerned for Cartman.</p><p>Still, the clock was edging on eight o'clock at night when he walked up the sidewalk to the familiar green house. He was tense and convinced this wasn't going to work. He pressed the doorbell once, then knocked for good measure. It would probably be best if he didn't announce it was him before the door opened so he said nothing.</p><p>After a long moment the door opened. "If you're here to take me away you should know I-"</p><p>Kyle shook his head slightly and recoiled in disbelief. He'd figured Cartman would be drowning himself in sweets and destroying the house because he didn't have anyone to tell him not to, but instead the brunet was stood in a dirty pair of sweats and a t-shirt. His hair was a complete mess and the bags under his eyes stood out as if he'd just put on makeup. What struck Kyle the most was how exhausted he looked, a state he'd never seen the larger boy in. The two stopped, taken aback, and stared at each other for a second. </p><p>Cartman's eyes narrowed into a glare. "Didn't I tell you to get out, Jew?" he spat and slammed the door shut.</p><p>Kyle's mouth fell open as anger mixed with his shock. He shook his head again to regain composure and knocked, more insistent. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. He stepped back, glaring at the door, and considered leaving. He didn't want to deal with Cartman's shit any more than he had to and having a few months off had been a relief he sorely needed. But whichever way he put it or attempted to rationalize the situation he couldn't get the image out of his head and his thoughts kept spiraling around how shocked he'd been. It didn't seem like the brunet was dealing with his mother's death in the way anyone who knew him would expect he would. Kyle groaned in protest and reached into his pocket for the key.</p><p>The door swung open a second later and Kyle took a second to examine the house. It wasn't dirty, but at the same time it didn't look like anyone lived in it. It was tidy, every single surface cleared of normal household items like pictures or even tissue boxes. All the lights were off so darkness settled over the entire floor along with a thin layer of dust. The old couch he remembered spending hours sitting on playing video games had been stripped of it's cushions and covered in a large blanket that looked like it had been tossed on and not sat on a single time. Kyle wondered if it had been like this before.</p><p>Don't be stupid. He rolled his eyes. Cartman said something about being taken away so they've probably come in and taken most of the stuff so the house can be sold.</p><p>He thought about that for a moment as he looked around at the empty place. The chairs he'd eaten dinner in occasionally in the kitchen, the tv he'd seen movie premieres on and watched hours worth of TV shows. He had spent a lot of time here growing up. What would it be like to drive past and know another family lived there? He stopped walking. </p><p>Where would Cartman go?</p><p>He gritted his teeth, gaze cast towards the stairs apprehensively. The wooden boards creaked in a way he was used to, to the point he knew where to step and eliminate the noise. He crept into the upstairs hallway where Cartman's voice rang out from behind his closed bedroom door. Kyle shuffled closer to listen, one hand on the wall to stabilize himself. </p><p>"No you don't understand!" Cartman cried in desperation. "If I don't get a job I'm fucked! Please!"</p><p>Silence ensued and Kyle froze where he was. His throat had become dry and tight, like it was swelling on the inside. He stared at the floor. He'd never imagined Cartman trying to get a job and not once-that he knew of- had he ever tried to in the past. The brunet sort of simply existed and mooched everything he could off his mother. Oh. Kyle found himself smirking at the idea that Cartman had been spoiled his entire life and now was forced to support himself like everyone else had started to long ago. His stomach twisted with guilt immediately after.</p><p>"Show the boy some pity!" His mother's voice rang in his head. "He just lost his mother!" Kyle shook his head. He didn't want to pity Cartman. He didn't want to feel bad for him at all.</p><p>"Yeah well FUCK YOU!" Cartman roared angrily and something slammed on the floor. Kyle listened to several angry groans and the thumping of footsteps in the quiet. Cartman released several obscenities overtop his fit and then Kyle heard a huge crash that made him jump. </p><p>He rushed into action, tossing the boy's bedroom door open. Inside, he found Cartman in a heap on the floor beside a broken lamp and an overturned dresser. The brunet turned wild eyes at him, shocked. </p><p>"What the fuck are you doing in here?!" He yelled. "How'd you get in my house?!"</p><p>Kyle frowned and gestured to the mess. "Why'd you do that?" He asked, trying not to sound too degrading. </p><p>"I didn't mean to, Jew!" Cartman threw his hands up. "Now go away!" He scooted away from the dresser and brushed a few stray pieces of broken glass from the lamp off his legs. </p><p>The redhead hesitated a moment before crossing his arms over his chest. His mother had asked him to do this, and clearly Cartman was in a worse state than he thought. He glared, stoic. "No."</p><p>Cartman groaned and rolled his eyes. "Oh fuck off! Like I'd actually believe for a second you care. You're the one that told me to get lost months ago, so why don't you make up your mind and leave?"</p><p>Kyle gritted his teeth a little and remembered the last time he'd tried to confront Cartman about an issue days ago. It had ended with him getting pushed into a wall. Would the boy try to attack him again if he made a move? "Cartman…" he tried, but then couldn't recall what he'd wanted to say. Everything sounded so fake, so rehearsed, showing truth in the brunet's words. If Kyle were honest with himself he didn't care. However it was mildly interesting and perhaps a little concerning to see the boy in such a state.</p><p>For a moment things were quiet. Both boys stared daggers at one another but neither moved or said a word. After a while Cartman sighed and slouched forward. "So now you know what's going on," he said, sounding defeated.</p><p>Kyle's brows furrowed. "You're trying to get a job so they don't kick you out."</p><p>Cartman turned his head away. "I've still got a few months before I turn eighteen. I thought minors were always in high demand for stupid low-wage jobs," he huffed. </p><p>Bouncing on the balls of his feet slightly, Kyle thought on that statement. He pictured an employer reading the resumé of a near adult with no drivers license or work experience and- </p><p>"No one's hiring you because of your records." The words were blunt and when he spoke them Cartman visibly flinched. Kyle was well aware of the brunet's past and his history with violence and emotional outbursts. He, out of anyone, knew how easily Cartman could freak out and what he was capable of when he did. When they were younger he wreaked constant havoc on the town and especially his friends. It wasn't something he'd easily be able to escape. </p><p>Kyle wondered if he'd ever be able to get a job. No doubt now he'd be placed into foster care until he turned eighteen and then what? Was there anything he could do to make a living for himself? He glared at the floor, shoulders drooping. </p><p>Cartman turned his gaze back and sneered. "You figured it out, huh? Fucking Jew spy."</p><p>"Fuck off," he spat back. </p><p>"Are you gonna go away or what?"</p><p>Kyle wasn't sure how to respond to that. He definitely didn't want to stay but he kept telling himself over and over that this was what his mom asked him to do. Nevertheless, he'd never been the best at comforting. </p><p>He scoffed aloud. What had she expected from this? Sure, she didn't know the full extent of the boys' hatred for each other over the years but he'd never thought it was worth telling her. Maybe if he had he wouldn't be in this mess right now, seemingly trapped in Cartman's room with no viable way to leave on good terms. He couldn't even think of anything to say.</p><p>"Helloooo," Cartman drawled annoyingly. "You're still here, standing in my room. Like a weirdo."</p><p>The redhead glanced back up. "Whatever. You wouldn't listen if I tried to help anyways." He turned on his heels and headed out of the room and back down the stairs. The reply had come out of nowhere, in truth, but somehow it was better than anything he could have said, because it was true. Cartman never listened to anything, and that pinned the blame on him rather than on Kyle for not knowing what to do. That probably should have made him feel guilty, but this was Cartman. Cartman didn't give a shit about anything and Kyle didn't give a shit about him. That was the way it had always been, Kyle couldn't see that changing anytime soon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. ~4~</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I try my best to keep up with comments and write consistently but I work five days a week and other hobbies/responsibilities get in the way when I'm not working. I promise I'll keep working hard on this story!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He shouldn't have gone. He knew from the beginning it would be a bad idea. He knew. And yet still he stood at the edge of the casket, an empty, hollow stare leveled at the wood. </p>
<p>Barely anyone had shown up. His old friend's families, the most emotionally invested being Sheila Broflovski, of all the insufferable people, and random people Eric barely took the time to pause and look at. It was mostly men who had known his mother throughout the years. Not worth looking at them anyway. </p>
<p>The service went by immensely quick, with a couple small speeches and then a drawn out prayer that Eric didn't listen to a word of. When it was over Kenny approached solemnly and asked how Eric had been doing.</p>
<p>I feel like I wanna shove myself in a hole and never talk to anyone again. He'd wanted to say as he stood there with his hands balled into fists at his sides. But he couldn't. So he walked away. He assumed Kenny, Stan, and Kyle's parents must have dragged them off because now he stood alone in the room with the stupid closed casket in front of him like it was trying to mock him. The air felt thin when he breathed in deeply through his nose and he wished it wasn't so stuffy in the funeral home and things could be over sooner so he could get out of his suit. </p>
<p>He stared at the casket, skin crawling with questions. He checked behind him and then turned back to the polished wood. "Why'd you have to leave that night, huh?" It was barely a whisper but it still came out harsh. "You always left and it was fine! Why now?!"</p>
<p>He squeezed his eyes shut and shoved his hands into the pockets on his suit. All he could bring himself to do was glare at his feet. "I can't even remember the last thing I said to you." He frowned. "And now you're dead."</p>
<p>"Eric?" Mrs. Broflovski's voice broke the silence hesitantly. "They need to bring her out now. Do you want to come to the cemetery?"</p>
<p>"No." He narrowed his eyes angrily. "No I don't." He went to storm out of the room but she stopped him at the door. He huffed. "What?"</p>
<p>"Kyle told me he stopped by your house the other day since you haven't been at school all week. I hoped he said some nice things to cheer you up." Her smile was that of someone who was doing something they didn't want to do, talking to someone they'd rather not. Eric was too familiar with that.</p>
<p>His anger had already begun to boil over, but by now it felt like he might explode. "You know what?" He chimed sarcastically. "He actually told me to fuck off and said I was a bad person because I wouldn't listen to him no matter what he said! Imagine that!"</p>
<p>She stared at him in shock. "W-what?! Kyle?"</p>
<p>"I know right!" He shook his head. "He seems like such a nice person, but not to me it seems. Mrs. Broflovski, are you aware your son and I aren't even friends anymore?"</p>
<p>Eric watched her reaction, the utter disbelief and confusion that passed over her face as she glanced back into the reception area. It was all the answer he needed. Kyle didn't even care enough about him to tell his mother they weren't friends. </p>
<p>"Yes, we got in a huge fight and he told me to get lost three months ago! All because I was upset about a game. Hmm." He tsked and shrugged his shoulders. "Now if you'll excuse me I'm leaving." He pushed past her and every other person in his way until he was out of the building and walking down the street. </p>
<p>As he walked, he thought about trying to get ahold of Kenny. The blonde had been pretty insistent on asking how Eric was the past week and he seemed way more genuine than Kyle had. Now that he thought about it Stan hadn't really talked to or looked at him once, probably since their big fight. Eric had always known him to be a stickler for morals and sticking by friends, and the brunet himself had spent more than enough years ripping on all of them to earn Stan's distaste. He shook his head and decided not to contact Kenny, it didn't seem worth trying to get roped up with them again. </p>
<p>He kept turning down different streets and walking until he reached the outskirts of town. His eyes gazed down the road, towards the woods in front of him. He hadn't been paying enough attention to realize he'd stumbled straight for the road that lead to where his mother had been shot. His stomach churned. As far as he knew the cops hadn't moved the car yet, so it most likely was still parked at the top of the mountain. He looked behind him at the buildings that grew smaller the further away you looked. Out there, strangers were burying his mother six feet underground, and people that didn't even like him we're watching silently. Out there his mother was lying lifeless in a casket. The last thing he wanted to do was go back.</p>
<p>So he stepped into the treeline and continued into the woods. It was a long climb, one that he knew would leave him breathless and aching, but he didn't particularly care about anything at the moment, and for once that included himself. </p>
<p>By the time he reached the clearing he felt he may pass out from exhaustion or nausea or maybe both. The car was a battered looking red convertible with the top down and both seats leaned back all the way. It was off, no lights to shine into the distance and the now setting sun near the horizon. As he approached, the stench of blood and death began to seep into the depths of his throat. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand and walked closer.</p>
<p>Dried, almost black blood covered the interior, outlining the shapes of two people. He frowned. He knew she was having sex with the guy, but it felt weird to look at it. </p>
<p>Gore had never bothered him. He'd seen plenty of it in movies and with his own eyes, but it never made him feel sick or uneasy or anything. But as he looked in the car, at the seat where his mother had been shot and died, he felt like the entire ground beneath him was falling out from under his feet. His legs grew weak and within a few seconds he was on his knees, his fingers grinding into the dirt. The tears came and it was impossible to stop them. </p>
<p>When he was younger he cried constantly whether he stubbed his toe or someone hit him barely hard at all. But this… it was entirely different. It was overwhelming, debilitating, and it made his head hurt like he had the worst migraine he possibly could. He used to be able to stop it. But this, just like in the bathroom, he worried would never end. More than ever he wanted his mom back. He wanted her to walk around the curve of the road and bend down to hug him. He wanted to hear her sweet voice even if he knew he'd just be pissed at her again within an hour. He didn't care that he hated what she did. He missed her so much it physically hurt.</p>
<p>Why does it hurt so much? He asked himself as he choked out another sob. "Huh?!" His arms began to wobble holding himself up. "Why'd you do it?!" He screamed into nothingness. He wasn't entirely sure who he was even yelling at. </p>
<p>His phone buzzing in his pocket nearly scared the shit out of him. He jolted back, away from the car, and sucked an uneven breath in. He sniffed a couple times and wiped his eyes, pulling his phone out to answer the call and tell whoever it was to fuck off. </p>
<p>"Well well well, what a nice sight to see," a voice cooed from the other end of the line, stopping Eric in his tracks. "I was hoping you'd come up here."</p>
<p>"Wha-" Eric recoiled. "Who the fuck are you?!" He looked around into the settling darkness, frantic and on edge. </p>
<p>"You know who I am. Or at least you know my friends."</p>
<p>"Quit being cryptic and tell me, asshole!"</p>
<p>The voice laughed. "Let's give you a hint. I was here that night."</p>
<p>The cold, conniving tone of the man on the other end sent chills down Eric's spine. No. "Holy fuck-" he whispered and clapped a hand over his mouth. He was too overwhelmed to be angry. He didn't have time to process and come up with anything clever or manipulating to say, he was only terrified.</p>
<p>"Are you here?!"</p>
<p>"Yes and no." He paused. "I'm somewhere you won't find me, how's that?"</p>
<p>Eric was shaking. "What do you want?" He didn't want to be this scared, he knew he shouldn't be and he knew it was humiliating. That's probably exactly what whoever this was wanted from him, and he hated giving people what they wanted.</p>
<p>"I've already gotten what I want. Unless you decide to not leave me alone, then I'll have to take it a step further."</p>
<p>He shivered. Years of experience in his own methods of exploiting and manipulating were enough to tell him this man intended to kill him if he messed in the situation any further. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of him. "I'll leave. I'll leave if that's what you want."</p>
<p>Another laugh echoed across the line. "I don't care where you go, as long as you understand what you did to cause this."</p>
<p>Eric's entire body went numb. Recognition flashed through his mind and suddenly he realized who he was talking to. He remembered two years prior when he'd caught word of a group of juniors talking shit about him to nearly everyone in school. It was the first time he'd been so pissed off he came up with a scheme since elementary school, and it was one of his best. He'd spied on the boys for weeks and when he'd gotten enough dirt on them (from one of them being gay to family issues to embarrassing hobbies) he spread it to everyone he possibly could. He'd ruined their reputations, and when he was done he broke into their houses and broke any electronics they had and even stole a few things. Afterward he expected some awful retaliation but nothing had happened since and he'd nearly forgotten. </p>
<p>His shaking grew worse with each passing second. You killed her. His mind repeated over and over. This is your fault. You killed her. You killed her.</p>
<p>He dropped the phone and turned on his heels to run away, off into the woods the way he'd come. He didn't stop the entire way home, but it didn't get him any further away from what he was trying to run from. He should have known he wouldn't get away with what he did. And now it had cost him everything.</p>
<p>He killed his own mother.</p>
<p>&lt;~&gt;</p>
<p>Kyle stomped up to the battered door and slammed his fist into it several times. "Cartman!" He yelled. "You piece of shit, open this door!" His mother had taken away the key she gave him, along with nearly all of his belongings. </p>
<p>A moment later the door swung open. Cartman stood in front of him with deeper bags than the last time and essentially the same outfit. He looked bored. </p>
<p>"You got me grounded, asshole!" He shoved the brunet and followed him as he stumbled back. "Why would you lie to my mom?!" </p>
<p>Cartman's expression widened in disbelief. "Lie?! I didn't lie to her! I told her the goddamn truth and you know it!"</p>
<p>"How was anything you said true?! You said I-"</p>
<p>"Told me to fuck off and that I'm a bad person because I wouldn't listen to anything you say?" Cartman drew, uninterested but still mocking. </p>
<p>"I didn't say you're a bad person," Kyle spat with a glare. "I know you are, but I didn't say it. Now I'm in trouble because of you."</p>
<p>The brunet clicked his teeth. "You've gotta learn to read in between the lines, Kyle. Now do me a favour and please leave me alone."</p>
<p>"What's your problem, huh?!" Kyle shoved him again. His anger was boiling up from deep in his stomach, pushing through the fact that Kyle knew Cartman was going through a tragedy, uncontrollable. For months he'd evaded Cartman's antics and now suddenly it seemed he was back in his life again trying to mess everything up. </p>
<p>Cartman scowled. "My problem is people that try to fake caring for me just because my fucking mom died! Everyone left me alone before, so why can't they do it now?!" He shoved the redhead back.</p>
<p>"Oh shut the fuck up! You know no one pities you and it makes you feel entitled to come and screw up their lives because you're the shittiest person alive! You're constantly going out of your way to make everyone's life hell and you'll never fucking stop! You know why?! Cause-"</p>
<p>Kyle's vision went black for a second and pain exploded through his face. When he opened his eyes he was on the floor beneath Cartman, who had tears in his eyes. He looked flushed with anger and his fist was still balled in front of him. Kyle blinked, in a daze. </p>
<p>What had he just said? Why on earth did he say it? It didn't matter who Cartman was or what he'd done, he didn't deserve to be ripped on right now. Or did he? Kyle stared with his eyes unfocused and thought for a second. What he'd said never affected Cartman at all because there never seemed to be anything wrong with him- in a normal way. The brunet had always given less fucks than anyone could ever give, except for when it came to things he wanted. He didn't care what people thought of him. </p>
<p>Kyle tried to shake away the memory of Cartman's tearful, hurt gaze. As much as he tried to deny it, the brunet looked genuinely shaken. He was right, Cartman didn't deserve to be ripped on right now.</p>
<p>He sighed, eyes remaining where they were. "I hate fighting with you," he huffed. </p>
<p>"Then leave," Cartman pleaded. </p>
<p>The redhead glanced up at him, at the tears that had started spilling over and the way he looked like he wanted to hide from Kyle. From everyone. Is that why he told my mom all that stuff? Just to get her to leave him alone? To get her to stop sending me to check on him? He pursed his lips. "No," he stated bluntly. And this time, he meant it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. ~5~</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wanted to let everyone know that this story is going to be heavily edited in the near future. I was considering taking it down until I finished it completely and edited the entire thing, but I also don’t want to leave you guys hanging. I appreciate all the support for this, and even if at the moment I’m not fully proud of it I’m glad there are those who enjoy it. I promise I’m working hard to make this the good story y’all deserve!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Excuse me?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>no.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Kyle pushed himself up to stand and leveled a glare at the brunet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eric wanted to punch him again, but at the same time shrivel away so he couldn't be seen. "Why not?" He asked, then cringed at how weak it came out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Because…" the redhead bit down on his lip a little. "Even if you're… </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eric glared more pointedly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You shouldn't be left alone to deal with this."</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>"Oh, and you're going to help me?" Eric rolled his eyes and took the chance to wipe them with the sleeve of his hoodie. Kyle's words were still spiraling in his thoughts, each insult taking a turn to stab him with the reminder of everything he'd done. He shouldn't care. He didn't care. He didn't </span><em><span>want </span></em><span>to</span> <span>care. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kyle looked moderately unprepared for that question. His expression thinned. After Eric punched him his cheek had gone red and it was only just starting to return to normal. The brunet hadn't really noticed the aching in his own knuckles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't know," Kyle mumbled and shook his head in frustration. His eyes settled on the wall to his left. "It's not like I want to."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well then why don't you ask Kenny to do it? Since he seems so enthused to know how I'm doing." Eric's exasperation was outgrowing his patience. He wanted to simply shove Kyle out the door and be by himself so he didn't have to deal with anyone else's emotions but his own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The redhead turned his glare back to Eric. "He really does care about you, for some reason. You definitely don't deserve his concern."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So you're not concerned about me?" Eric raised an eyebrow. "You're just doing it because you think it's what people do for each other."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah basically." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unbelievably, the brunet laughed. It was short-lived and weak but it happened nonetheless. "How could I expect anything different from you? So, what? You're gonna 'check up on me'? Have little 'therapy sessions'?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kyle rolled his eyes. "You apparently didn't block my number," he suggested, almost randomly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ohhh, over the </span>
  <em>
    <span>phone </span>
  </em>
  <span>therapy sessions! I can't wait!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kyle frowned at Eric's obvious sarcasm. It was jarring, how quick the brunet could go from overwhelmed to angry and sarcastic when it came to Kyle pissing him off. The wave of tears had come and gone quickly, but what should have been his usual demeanor now felt like a distraction from how upset he really was. He didn't like the feeling at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The redhead turned and took a couple steps for the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What," Eric called after him. "Are you gonna storm out and leave again because you don't know how to handle me?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I thought you wanted me to leave!" Kyle retorted without stopping. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Eric said as he followed behind him. "And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don't </span>
  </em>
  <span>need handled, so fuck off."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kyle turned around to meet his gaze once he was out the door, expression a confusing mix of frustration and something that resembled pity. Eric hesitated for a split second, and then slammed the door shut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>&lt;~&gt;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eric seriously did not want to do this. In fact, he seemed to be making a list of many things recently that he'd rather avoid for the rest of his life. Mr. Mackey had called as well as P.C. Principal to encourage him to come back to school, and reassure that his grades for the past week and a half wouldn't be counted. It had reached Thursday before he could find any sort of motivation to simply get out of bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And finally he stood in front of the doors- late- so he didn't have to look at anyone in the halls and see their reactions to him first thing. For once he'd rather not start his day wanting to rip heads off, he just wanted to get this over with and go home again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed and gripped one hand around the strap of his bag before pushing into the school. The halls were, thankfully, empty give or take a few stragglers down the hall from him as he walked. No one came close enough to see him walking slowly towards his first class. He heard quick steps echoing down the hall towards him after a moment, however, and groaned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Eric!" Mr. Mackey called. He stopped beside the brunet and looked him over. "It's nice to have you back. I know how hard it must be, m'kay."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Whatever," he dismissed with a roll of his eyes. "Can I go to class without some big sappy comforting session, please?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, actually I wanted to offer you the option to do your schoolwork in study hall for a few days, m'kay. To make the transition a bit easier."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eric hated many things in this world, and Mr. Mackey's intense boring aura and idiotic way of speaking was one of the bigger ones. He'd rather listen to nails on a chalkboard than have a conversation with the annoying man. "I don't care, I literally don't care. Just leave me alone-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tensed when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Now, Eric, you should know you have people here for you during this time. It's okay to be upset or ask for help, m'kay?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Jesus fucking Christ," he mumbled and yanked his shoulder free. "I said I don't care!" He stormed away from Mr. Mackey and continued down the hall to his class. At least he knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>those </span>
  </em>
  <span>students already had a habit of ignoring him and they probably wouldn't even notice him walk in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shoved the door open and started towards his desk but the hair on the back of his neck stood up, feeling nearly every pair of eyes in the room on him. He was still tense. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah? What, are you thinking about me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>His throat tightened. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What </span>
  </em>
  <span>are</span>
  <em>
    <span> you thinking?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tried to slide into his desk as easy as possible but the room had gone quiet and several people were still watching him. Did they know what he'd done? Had one of the boys spread the word that Eric was the reason his mother was dead? Did any of them hate him too and we're plotting their own horrid revenge for something he'd done to them years ago? He gripped his hands on the edge of the desk to stop the oncoming shaking. "What?" He piped. "Quit staring!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His entire body felt on edge with worry. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. When he was younger he'd always felt untouchable, like he could get away with anything if he worked hard enough for it and was smart enough. But now… he felt almost in danger surrounded by the judging gazes of his peers that he'd tormented since elementary school. It made him want to crawl under his desk and hide forever, and at the same time slap himself for being such a pussy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well," the teacher drew slowly from the front of the room, thankfully pulling some gazes to herself. "Welcome back, Eric. Are you doing alright?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>just teach the goddamn lesson," he gritted his teeth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She frowned. "Language," she advised half-heartedly before turning back to her board. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eric sunk down to slouch in his seat. For the first time ever actually, he was aware of how </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> fine he was, and how that hadn't changed for days. What if it never stopped? What if he was guilty for the rest of his life and he always felt in danger no matter where he went and he could never get a job or a life of his own or- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Quit thinking about it, quit thinking about it, quit thinking about it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shut his eyes and tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He wanted nothing more than for it to be over and for things to go back to normal. For people to stop faking like they cared, for the pain of his mother's death to go away, and for the knowledge of his involvement in it to have never come to fruition. He wanted it all gone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Focus on the lesson. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His brain suggested, almost frantic. He turned his eyes to the board and tried watching the teacher as she wrote different equations. He noticed two different formulas above them and beside that a sheet of paper clipped to the board. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I hate math.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He wanted to groan, but for now it was all he could get to distract himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the day was spent doing the same thing over and over again. Each new class he went to people watched him without a word to say and every time Eric wanted to punch them and run away that much more. By lunch he was dreading his last classes, one of which he knew he had with Stan and another with both he and Kenny. Unsurprisingly Stan didn't spare him more than a glance in their first class, Eric was pretty sure he'd also heard the dark haired boy scoff when the teacher asked how he was doing. He was grateful to leave and get a moment of peace from the constant feeling of staring. That was until Stan turned to stand in front of him with a look of hatred. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So they haven't kicked you out yet?" He asked as if it was casual.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eric's brow furrowed in anger. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Kyle told me you punched him, all because he told you the truth about who you really are."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What, that I'm a piece of shit?" He tilted his head to glare at Stan, who remained calm and casual yet still pissed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes, exactly."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't think I won't punch you too," Eric growled and stepped forward only to be shoved back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Woah! Cartman, hey!" Kenny ran over and stood between the two with his hands up slightly. "I've been trying to get ahold of you after the funeral."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The brunet turned his glare to Kenny now. Before he could say anything Stan sighed. "Kenny! C'mon I told you you shouldn't care-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You can't tell me what to do," Kenny said and turned away from the dark haired boy to face Eric directly. "We're all going to the same place. Why don't we walk together? You don't have to talk."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I won't," Eric spat and left before anyone else could reply. Kenny followed at his heels and he didn't hear Stan try to follow through the bustle of students walking through the halls. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay I know I said you didn't have to," Kenny muttered quickly once he'd caught up to Eric. "But I seriously wanna know if you're alright or not."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why does </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>keep asking me that?!" The brunet rolled his eyes and tried to walk faster, a fruitless endeavor as Kenny caught up almost immediately. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Because we're worried. What you're going through is really hard." The blonde tossed his bangs aside and tried to meet Eric's eyes but the brunet absolutely refused to look at him. The effort to walk faster was catching up to him, his breathing quickening. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You might be," he dismissed. "But </span>
  <em>
    <span>they're </span>
  </em>
  <span>not. Kyle's right, I don't understand why you care. I mean, it's not like we're friends."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey-" Kenny grabbed Eric's arm and pulled him to stop gently. Despite his annoyance he stopped walking. "I don't care what happened, this is more important than that. I haven't forgiven you for the shit you said but that doesn't mean I can ignore you and be mean to you. I've known you for years. I'll always care to some extent."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eric had to stop himself from rolling his eyes once again. He wanted to tell the blonde to shut up, considering there was no way Eric would ever believe him. People didn't care about him. No one did but his mother, and she was dead. Out of nowhere he started to tear up again and he blinked quickly, turned, and rushed away from Kenny. The blonde tried to yell after him but he weaved in between people to make sure he got lost in the crowd.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stop crying, you pussy.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He sniffed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop it, stop it, stop it!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was sick of it all. He didn't want to look at anyone ever again in his entire life, much less talk to them. He wanted to hole himself up at home and never leave, never have to worry about police officers coming to take him away, jobs that he'd never get, and a world that hated him so much it had taken everything from him. He was sick and tired of being upset, and he wanted it to be over with the instant he opened his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew it wouldn't happen.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. ~6~</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just want everyone to know that as of now I'm up to chapter ten in this book and I'm losing motivation more every day 😂 </p>
<p>I swear I'll get to it. I swear.</p>
<p>Also thanks for all your wonderful comments and support! I'm awkward when responding but I see them all so even if I don't say anything know I've seen it and I appreciate it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I can't believe I'm doing this. Kyle scolded himself as he walked. This is the third time since it happened, and for what?</p>
<p>He'd sat in his room for three hours after school, well aware of the fact that Cartman had stormed out crying and had not come back. He hadn't read any of Kenny's messages and Kyle had tried calling him twice, it went straight to voicemail. Whatever was wrong with him now he could tell what Kenny had tried hadn't worked. His own attempts hadn't necessarily worked either, but at least he could take Cartman's shit and throw it right back in his face instead of trying to be nice. </p>
<p>That's not what this is about. He wrung his hands and looked down the sidewalk towards Cartman's house. For three hours he'd contemplated not coming. And during that time Kenny had still not heard from the brunet at all. So he decided to get over himself for a little and see if everything was fine. </p>
<p>He rapped on the door lightly at first. "Cartman?" He called. "You in there?" He rang the doorbell for good measure. </p>
<p>A moment passed with no answer. Kyle sighed, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the house key he'd fished out of the junk drawer in the kitchen. He'd known for years his mom liked to hide things in there. He pushed the door open quietly then gasped and froze in place when his eyes landed on what was inside. </p>
<p>All over the place, littering the floor, was broken and toppled over pieces of furniture. Side tables had been seemingly thrown across the room and cabinets with cracking wood lying flat on the floor, even the couch was turned over so it's bottom legs stuck up in the air. The tv was facedown, surrounded by shattered glass and splatters of fresh-looking blood. Kyle stared wide eyes at the scene, fear creeping into his mind. </p>
<p>"Oh my god-" he whispered to himself. What if he tried to kill himself? What if he did kill himself?</p>
<p>"Cartman!" He yelled and made his way into the dark house. He checked in the kitchen and down the hallway to the bathroom, finding nothing, and then bolted up the stairs. He nearly screamed when he collided with a body as he turned the corner to the upstairs hallway. He jumped back and briefly gripped his hands on Cartman's forearms and let go once he'd taken in that it was him. </p>
<p>"I see you're back," Cartman mumbled, monotone. He didn't seem to have any sort of expression on his face. He was just… bored. Uninterested. </p>
<p>"What happened down there?!" Kyle stared at him, looking him over for any signs of where the blood had come from. It occurred to him then that maybe the blood wasn't from him, but then he saw hastily wrapped bandages on his hand and swallowed the thought. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd thought at first that Cartman had killed himself. The brunet had never given any signs he wanted to die (outside of an incident back in elementary that wasn't serious), he just seemed quiet. Like he didn't care about anything. </p>
<p>Cartman pursed his lips and said nothing. Kyle remembered the last time he'd been over and frowned. "You did all that, didn't you?" The only thing the brunet did was look away, and Kyle couldn't help himself. "What happened?" He asked, genuinely concerned. </p>
<p>If this were a normal tantrum Cartman would be prancing around complaining about what he couldn't get. He'd have been insulting the redhead and telling him to get out like he always did, if anything about this was normal. Clearly, just from one look at him, it wasn't. He swayed on his feet, looking like he was unsure of what to do with himself. Still, he had not spoken. </p>
<p>Kyle's expression narrowed and he took a step forward. "Tell me."</p>
<p>The brunet turned his gaze further away. </p>
<p>"Did you get refused another job again?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>The reply took him off guard a second. "Then what is it?"</p>
<p>Kyle watched him and waited for something, anything to happen. Seeming completely unlike himself Cartman stared at the floor with his hands in his pockets and not a single word to speak. He looked like a toy that had run out of batteries. The redhead sighed. "You don't have that wrapped right," he gestured to the badly wrapped hand. </p>
<p>Cartman glanced up at him. "I really don't care."</p>
<p>"You're so stupid," Kyle scoffed and grabbed the brunet's other hand to drag him to the upstairs bathroom. Cartman made a noise of protest that he didn't bother listening to, shoving him into the room and shutting the door behind them. He turned on the sink and busied himself in the midst of the silence with unwrapping the brunet's hand. At first Cartman tried to jerk his hand away, glaring, but Kyle yanked it back towards him and the slightly shorter boy winced in pain and gave up. The damp gauze fell away, revealing several small cuts on Cartman's knuckles and the top of his hand. </p>
<p>He shook his head as he looked over it. He pushed Cartman's hand under the water and the boy shrieked, bouncing on his feet. Kyle didn't think it was worth trying to talk to him again so he stayed silent and ran water over the brunet's wounds, wondering where he'd gotten the gauze and if he could find more.</p>
<p>"Are you planning on stopping showing up here unannounced anytime soon?" Cartman asked quietly after a moment. Some of his usual annoyance had returned but it wasn't enough to make him look like him. </p>
<p>Kyle frowned. "You stop being stupid and I won't have a reason to." He bent down to look in the cabinet for gauze, finding a roll thrown in and sprawled over various hair-care products and cleaning supplies. It was obvious Cartman had tossed it in during his fit and hadn't bothered to roll it back up. He did his best to pick up what he could and set it on the counter. </p>
<p>As he looked over the wounds on Cartman's hand and wound up the gauze to start wrapping it the proper way he saw the brunet watching him. Several quiet moments passed and then he finally spoke. "Why are you doing this, Kyle?"</p>
<p>The redhead glanced up. He looked at Cartman, then down at their hands where he was still wrapping, then past that, focusing on the tiles of the floor. In truth, he hadn't stopped to think about anything he was doing. All he saw was how unusual the brunet was acting, how he looked deflated and like all the fight had left him, how the bags under his eyes seemed to grow each time Kyle saw him, and how his entire life had been fucked up in nearly every way. He saw the trashed downstairs in his memory, pictured Cartman throwing things in a frenzy and somehow punching the TV so hard he broke it and cut his hand up. Before now he hadn't thought to ask why Cartman had been so freaked out he left school and trashed his house, after all, he was used to the boy's tantrums and freak outs. He knew how Cartman worked. </p>
<p>He pursed his lips. Because it's what I have to do. No- He thought of the brunet at the funeral and how he hadn't said a word. Everything that had happened since his mother's death had gone against every predisposition Kyle had about him. It was unsettling, and if he was honest with himself, worrying.</p>
<p>"I don't know," he said finally. And it was more truthful than anything he could have said. He wrapped the gauze around once more and pulled it taut- earning a hiss- and flattened it down to connect the velcro. They both took a step away from each other. </p>
<p>Cartman sighed heavily and left the room, muttering that he wanted the redhead to leave. </p>
<p>"What, so you can keep trashing your house?" Kyle scoffed. "Y'know someone should probably tell you to clean it up before they come to take your stuff."</p>
<p>Unexpectedly Cartman froze in front of him and he had to jerk to a stop to keep from colliding. He stared, bewildered, at the back of the brunet's head. Cartman made a strange noise and brought his hands up to his face, seeming tense.</p>
<p>"You need to leave," he mumbled. "Right now."</p>
<p>Kyle crossed his arms. "Tell me why you trashed everything," he shot back.</p>
<p>"I don't need to tell you anything I just want you to leave! Why can't you leave now, you already showed up and did your good deed for the day!" The brunet turned to face him, arms flailing all over the place for emphasis.</p>
<p>"This isn't over," Kyle deadpanned. </p>
<p>"No it's not! It's never over! Don't you get that?!" Cartman shrieked with a desperation entirely unfamiliar to him. "This doesn't go away! I don't think it ever will!"</p>
<p>The redhead pursed his lips, trying to ignore the unsettled churning in his stomach. He didn't like the way Cartman was acting. He had no idea how to help, and he didn't even want to. "If you want I can ask Kenny to do this instead."</p>
<p>"Ugh!" Cartman pulled at his hair. "You're not listening!"</p>
<p>"Because you're not saying anything!"</p>
<p>Cartman scoffed. "Well, what do you want me to say?!"</p>
<p>"I want you to tell me what's wrong! Tell me why you're so angry all of the sudden!"</p>
<p>The brunet's expression shriveled. "You wanna know what's wrong?! Everything! Everything is wrong, Kyle! And it won't fucking stop! Do you know how hard it is to walk downstairs and not see my mom cooking dinner or watching TV on the goddamn couch?! I trashed it because I can't fucking stand to look at it! It makes me sick!" He stopped and took in a breath and then huffed a few times. He looked away. "And you don't even fucking believe me."</p>
<p>Cartman turned on his heels and stomped into his room, a click of the lock following a second later, leaving Kyle alone and without a second to rush forward and stop him. He stood in the hall with his mouth agape slightly, disbelief pouring through his thoughts. He stared at the door while his mind raced. You need to do something! He shook his head and took a step back. No leave him alone. He closed his eyes. </p>
<p>What the fuck is going on?</p>
<p>&lt;~&gt;</p>
<p>It was midnight. Since when was it midnight? Kyle ran a hand through his hair and turned over with a huff in bed. He'd been unable to fall asleep no matter how long he lied there with his eyes closed. He'd tried putting a pillow over his face, burying himself in the blankets, and even shutting his blinds so the comforting moonlight didn't show in case it was too bright. Nothing seemed to be helping and his mind kept flying in circles around the events from earlier that night.</p>
<p>He covered his eyes with one arm, busying himself with shifting his feet and cracking his stiff toes. Too quiet. He thought. It's too quiet in here.</p>
<p>He could still see Cartman's hurt and overwhelmed expression as he yelled louder and louder without taking a breath. He could still feel himself in that moment almost paralyzed with shock. </p>
<p>"You don't even fucking believe me," the brunet had said. Kyle frowned to himself. Did he? If he was honest with himself Kyle had absolutely no idea what to think of Cartman at this point. He didn't know whether or not he was telling the truth or if all this bullshit had been faked or staged or if what he'd always believed was true and Cartman didn't care at all about anyone besides himself. It seemed to be the most likely option but everything kept going against that. Kyle was beginning to wonder if anything would ever go back to normal. </p>
<p>His arm fell down onto his pillow above his head. Actually, now that he thought about it, his "normal" had ended three months prior when the friend group had fallen apart. Since then one friend he'd known his entire life had gone missing, Stan had become more distant and worried about college, and Kenny had started taking more shifts so they barely saw each other anymore. Though three of them were still friends and talked regularly it wasn't anywhere near what it had been, and in truth Kyle had been trying to ignore it since the incident. </p>
<p>He sighed. As if in answer his phone buzzed on his side table, lighting up the pitch black of the room. He groaned as he turned to pick it up. A text from Kenny gleamed at his notification bar.</p>
<p>Kenny<br/>-Hey I just got off<br/>-Did you go to Cartman's?</p>
<p>Yeah-</p>
<p>-And? </p>
<p>He trashed his house and cut his hand-</p>
<p>-Dude, seriously??<br/>-Is he okay?</p>
<p>I honestly have no idea-</p>
<p>-What does that mean?</p>
<p>Kyle bit his lip and contemplated if it was a good idea to admit all the confusion he'd experienced relating to Cartman in the past couple weeks. On one hand the blonde may not have any better idea how to figure it out than he did, and on the other it may cause Kenny to seek out the brunet and cause more trouble. His expression thinned.</p>
<p>He's been really confusing lately-<br/>He keeps telling everyone to leave him alone but then he acts out like he always has for attention-<br/>I don't think he's entirely okay but I literally don't know how bad it actually is-<br/>It's really weird, don't you think?-</p>
<p>Kenny took several minutes to reply. The brightness on his phone was starting to irritate his tired eyes so he turned on night mode and when he opened up his messenger again there was a new message.</p>
<p>-Are you sure he's acting out for attention?</p>
<p>Why else would he be acting out?-<br/>I mean, it's Cartman-</p>
<p>But as he typed it out, he understood too. He may not have believed it when he was a kid but Cartman, vile as he was, was human too. Pain affected him just like it could anyone else, including Kyle himself. He'd never lost a parent before but he'd been through some shit that made him act out. He couldn't imagine what the brunet could be feeling right now.</p>
<p>-Kyle :/</p>
<p>He said he trashed his house because he can't stand to look at it-<br/>He said it makes him feel sick-</p>
<p>-He needs help dude. He needs someone to be there for him.</p>
<p>We'd never convince Stan-</p>
<p>-Probably not<br/>-But you seem to have better luck than me talking to him, so why don't you keep doing that for now. Just check on him every so often</p>
<p>He's not as willing as you make it seem-<br/>The reason I left is because he locked himself in his room-</p>
<p>-Did you try to talk to him after that?</p>
<p>Kyle frowned and shifted uncomfortably under his covers.</p>
<p>No-</p>
<p>-Well try that next time<br/>-Youre never going to get anywhere if all you are is mean to him</p>
<p>It's not like I don't try. He wanted to say. But Kenny was right, he didn't try and that was the problem. It was still Cartman, and the idea of being nice to Cartman made him want to rip his own hair out, but it also just wasn't fair. Besides, as much as he didn't want to admit it there was something almost intriguing about the brunet's outburst. He felt guilty for thinking that.</p>
<p>"Okay fine…" he whispered to himself and didn't bother texting Kenny back before shutting his phone off and setting it back on the side table. He pulled his covers up over his head again and tried to ease his mind enough to sleep, dreading the moment when he'd have to walk back into Cartman's problems again and try to figure them out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. ~7~</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I forgot to mention earlier! I made a playlist/soundtrack for this story! It goes in order, see if you can pick out where different songs come in :P</p>
<p>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3f1C3w2f8XL2Mfl0wG44mJ?si=Mxr_lgJhTOmzDP2KmQFjXQ</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eric paced across his room, from wall to wall, over and over again. He couldn't calm his nerves. Something just kept telling him that people were coming for him, ever since Kyle's words the night before. He'd hardly slept, and now he couldn't stop moving trying to keep his body moving faster to replace his worried thoughts. </p>
<p>They're coming. It still pried, and repeated again and again and again. You can't lie forever. They're going to come and take everything away from you and kick you out and there's nothing you can do about it. And above all of it, She can't save you anymore.</p>
<p>A couple hours ago the house phone had rang and Eric had answered it to find the police station on the other end once again. He'd told them he had a job and was doing just fine for himself, and that he was nearly eighteen. While the South Park police were definitely not the brightest and his lie would buy him some time he knew he couldn't keep it up forever. Soon enough they'd realize the bills weren't being paid and Eric would lose everything. He was no less than terrified. </p>
<p>He considered going out and trying to find another job but just thinking about it made his hands shake with rage knowing it wouldn't work. He turned on his heels once again and paced down to the other side of his room. It was Saturday, he didn't have anywhere to go or anything to do and normally (at least since three months ago) he would chill at home and eat because he had nothing to worry or care about. Now the idea of sitting down and eating made his stomach churn. He'd been eating less anyways, the fridge and cabinets were starting to grow barren and somehow Eric didn't feel like he was dying of starvation. His nerves kept him from even thinking about food most of the time. </p>
<p>"I have to stop this-" he muttered to himself and tugged at his hair a little. When he turned again he stopped walking, immediately the urge to move again filling his entire body. He glanced over at his bed. What if he laid down and tried to sleep again? </p>
<p>That didn't work earlier, he scolded himself. What makes you think it's gonna work now?</p>
<p>"Uuuurgh!" He stamped his foot on the ground, pressing his palms against his temples. "Quit being a fucking pussy! Quit worrying! AGH!" He smacked himself multiple times and by the last he was beginning to feel dizzy. The wrapping on his one hand rubbed uncomfortably against his face. He brought it down to look at it, teetering on his footing a bit, and frowned. </p>
<p>He couldn't understand why Kyle was being so persistent in helping him. Before the redhead wouldn't have been caught dead helping Eric wrap anything but he'd done it yesterday without asking questions, and he hadn't even tried to make it more painful than he should have. It was more annoying than confusing. No matter how many times he'd asked him to stop Kyle kept showing up and barging in on his problems. Shoving his way into the dark parts of Eric's life he never wanted anyone to see.</p>
<p>Without meaning for them to, his eyes shifted to the door- which still remained locked- and his body seemed to prickle and stand on edge. Once again a memory of his mother entering to speak with her sweet voice tugged at him, bringing him up a moment only to send him hurtling down onto harsh concrete painfully. Something in his chest convulsed, and he shut his eyes to get rid of the pain. </p>
<p>Something. He thought desperately. There has to be something. He moved toward the door and grasped the handle with his eyes still shut. He didn't open them until he was in the hallway once again and zooming unevenly down the stairs. </p>
<p>The lights were off, as they had been, all throughout the downstairs. As he pushed past the toppled pieces of furniture and junk on the floor he resisted wanting to trash it more. He made his way into the kitchen and opened the freezer. Unopened bags of green beans and frozen chicken were all that lied inside, only furthering his frustration. </p>
<p>"Fuck, mom!" He slammed the door shut. "Where'd you keep it?! I know you had some!"</p>
<p>Quit talking to her. She's dead you idiot.</p>
<p>He stomped over to the pantry and sifted through what little was left, his hands starting to get covered in dust. He brushed them off, pushed further into the pantry, and stood up on his toes to see the higher shelf. She wasn't that much taller than him, especially now, but she'd still had enough so she could hide things where he couldn't see. He pushed a box of poptarts aside and a few stray napkins and his hand grazed cold glass. His eyes widened. He grabbed it and yanked it down without even bothering to read the label. </p>
<p>"If I can't ignore it, I'll forget it." He offered quietly, fumbling with the cork. The bottle had been opened before so it was loose and he got it out with just his fingers. As soon as it was off he tipped the bottle back and took a large gulp. He nearly spit it all out when he coughed. He put his hand over his mouth, sputtered a second, then swallowed and went to take another drink. </p>
<p>This entire thing was becoming tiresome. He was tired of feeling angry, upset that he'd lost his mother, his hatred towards the memories that came with every single object in the house that always had to do with her, his stresses about getting a job and being thrown out and having no one there for him but himself. He didn't want to deal with it anymore. So he kept drinking, hoping to wash it all away, and soon enough his head grew foggy. He hoped he'd never have to think about any of it, at all, ever again.</p>
<p>&lt;~&gt;</p>
<p>Noises entered the silence of the living room. </p>
<p>"Mmm-" Eric groaned, not bothering to move. His fingers curled a little tighter around the bottle in his hand, sat on the floor above his head.</p>
<p>Something that sounded like the front door creaked open and whoever entered gasped. </p>
<p>The brunet turned his head awkwardly and looked at the entrance. "Oooh, look it's Kyle!" He drew slowly, faking enthusiasm. "Come to save-" he burped. "the day yet again!"</p>
<p>"What the fuck, Cartman, are you drunk?!" Kyle gaped at him.</p>
<p>"That's a good question, let me check-" he lifted the bottle into the air but it was at an awkward angle and he couldn't figure out how to actually get it to his mouth to drink it. </p>
<p>The redhead was beside him before he could blink, grabbing the bottle from him and earning a whine of protest. </p>
<p>"Heyyy, that's mine asshole!" Eric rolled a bit and found himself with a faceful of carpet. He wasn't completely sure what was going on. </p>
<p>"I don't think you need it," Kyle scolded. "First of all you're too young, and second of all this is exactly what people who don't know how to deal with their problems do."</p>
<p>"I know how to deal with my problems," Eric retorted, his tone shifting between convincing and wobbly. "Look, I'm doing it right now!" He shifted and reached his arm out for the bottle but Kyle stood and pulled it away with a frown. </p>
<p>It was at that moment the brunet noticed he was on the floor, mostly on his back, with his legs at weird angles halfway under a side table that had been toppled over. "Oh shit, when did I get here?" he mumbled.</p>
<p>"You're not dealing with it." Kyle rolled his eyes and disappeared. Eric blinked, rubbed his eyes, and considered maybe Kyle wasn't really there and pushed himself into his stomach and then tried to push his knees underneath himself so he could get up. For whatever reason his body wasn't working with him.</p>
<p>Suddenly the redhead was back again, grabbing at his arms with too much force to be comfortable. Eric whined and attempted to pull himself away but his head fell and his limbs went numb with exhaustion. He was pulled up, jostled around a bit, and dropped with an "oof" onto the couch. He must not have realized when Kyle came back in and lifted it up, because how else would it have gotten there? He not-so-distinctly remembered trying to sit on it but falling off because someone had thrown it down onto the floor the wrong way. He giggled to himself at the idea of little weird monsters that couldn't walk right messing up his house. </p>
<p>In front of him, Kyle pulled his attention, standing with his arms crossed and a look of agitation sitting on his face. </p>
<p>Eric hummed and laughed some more. "Mmm- did I do something wrong?"</p>
<p>Kyle didn't move.</p>
<p>"What?" the brunet continued laughing. "You look like I just stole all your stuff- wait didn't you guys do that to me when we were little- ahaha I don't know I can barely remember!" </p>
<p>"Cartman," Kyle demanded and Eric looked back up at him. "What the hell are you doing?"</p>
<p>"Sitting here while you're being mad at me, for some reason."</p>
<p>The redhead scoffed. "I found you on the floor in the middle of your trashed house next to a broken bottle with another one in your hands, drunk. Delirious as you are, you have to see something wrong with that picture!"</p>
<p>Eric looked around him and chuckled. "No, I really don't see what the problem is here. I was just trying to have some fun-"</p>
<p>Kyle stepped forward once and pulled the brunet's attention again. His expression was thin. "Your mom."</p>
<p>"She's right-" Darkness pooled around the edges of his vision. The momentary lightness in his body weighted down like a wave pulling him beneath the surface, uncontrollable. His smile left him and his mouth fell open a bit, looking at Kyle more hollowly. The change was dizzying, disorienting. </p>
<p>In front of him, Kyle moved like he would have said something but nothing happened. Eric remembered, through his muddled thoughts, he could see a car filled with blood and a closed casket with insulting flowers draped over the top of it. He felt empty inside.</p>
<p>He moved his hands to push himself up off the couch but the instant he did he was shoved back down. "Fuck," he huffed, and buried his face in his hands. </p>
<p>Silence ensued and it seemed Kyle wasn't going to do anything but then he could be heard walking away. Eric held onto his head and tried to reorient himself. He was home, wasn't he? Kyle said he'd found him on the floor but Eric could barely remember that he'd been there at this point, let alone how he'd gotten there in the first place. He glanced up and around at the messy room he sat in. The first thing his gaze landed on was the tv, and his hand stung with the memory of himself screaming and shoving his fist into the screen. He could still hear the shattering glass and the cracking of his knuckles. He stared at it, getting caught in the memory as it played over and over in his head. </p>
<p>He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Kyle was in front of him again and pulling him up. This time he felt even heavier, collapsing into the redhead's hold as they walked, stumbling, towards the stairs. </p>
<p>"Jesus christ- fatass," Kyle muttered with the effort to pull Eric up the first couple steps. </p>
<p>Eric made a small noise. "I'm sorry," it slipped out without much thought. They stopped moving a second and the redhead glanced at him and in the next instant he fell back against the wall. </p>
<p>"C'mon," Kyle deadpanned. "You're gonna have to help me."</p>
<p>"Why are we going up here?" Eric groaned slowly, head lolling to the side. </p>
<p>"Because we have to." Kyle yanked on his arm, pulling upward. The brunet lifted one leg up and over the next step and, using the wall as support, clamored his way up until they emerged in the upstairs hallway. He expected to be guided to his room but instead he was pushed into the bathroom and sat on the side of the tub warily. </p>
<p>Eric looked up at the redhead, confused. </p>
<p>"Take a cold shower. Can you manage that? Because I'm not helping you."</p>
<p>Eric bit his lip, a familiar, sarcastic reply filtering through his mind. "You're so nice," he said and leaned back so he'd fall into the tub. It hurt his butt more than he'd figured it would.</p>
<p>Kyle rolled his eyes and left the room, shutting the door behind him, and leaving Eric alone with his thoughts and his heavy, disoriented body.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. ~8~</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I noticed that when I post from my phone it won't let me use the "rich text" option and when I copy and paste into HTML it doesn't look right. I currently don't have my iPad with me (which let's me use rich text) but as soon as I do I'm planning on going back and updating all the chapters that are messed up. So look forward to that!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I'm not the person to deal with this," Kyle huffed and leaned further into the wall. He drug his hand down his face. "I can't-"</p><p>I can't be nice to him. He wanted to say, but part of him didn't want that to be the reason.</p><p>"I can't sit here and watch him do this shit. I don't know how to help him."</p><p>On the other end of the line, Kenny sighed. "I mean every drunk person is different," he offered. "I know my dad but he's not Cartman. I don't think I'd be any better at helping than you would."</p><p>Kyle pursed his lips. "You're more empathetic than I am."</p><p>"He's never liked me," Kenny said after a moment. "I don't think the 'nice and empathetic' approach works on him."</p><p>"You make it sound like he's ever liked me." Kyle chuckled half-heartedly. He looked up the stairs, into the empty hallway in front of the bathroom door. It had been at least ten minutes since the redhead walked away. </p><p>Kenny's light laughter echoed across the line. "Look, I've gotta get to work. I'll invite him over at some point, okay? For now just try and find any alcohol you can and pour it out."</p><p>"Okay," Kyle sighed. </p><p>"See ya, dude."</p><p>"Bye."</p><p>The line went dead and Kyle let his hand fall down to his side. This was becoming frustrating but by now it was obvious he had to do something. Cartman seemed to be self-destructing, falling down the rabbit hole of grief that no one would expect him to go down. A few years ago he might not have cared whether or not the brunet was okay through something like this, but try as he might to deny it, he did. He couldn't just throw away the years and years they'd known each other and pretend it didn't mean anything.</p><p>He kicked off the wall and shuffled into the kitchen to look for any sign of more alcohol. He grabbed the bottle he'd taken from Cartman and poured it down the sink, then set it on the counter figuring it wouldn't be worth trying to keep this already destroyed house clean. It took several minutes of searching through the fridge and every cabinet until he found a couple bottles of vodka and another bottle of wine on the top shelf of the pantry. He took them down, poured each one out, and set them next to the other bottle. He hadn't heard Cartman exit the bathroom yet, so he took a couple more minutes to find the broom and sweep up the broken glass from the brunet's first bottle and the broken tv and at least throw that away.</p><p>Satisfied as he could be in this situation, he walked back upstairs. He considered knocking on the door but decided against it and resorted to pacing through the hallway. The calm, steady noises of water hitting the tub and the creaking of floorboards underneath his feet were the only things to break the silence in the house. </p><p>Kyle started picking at his nails with his teeth while he paced, and then he stopped and examined a little table with a fake potted plant on it and a picture frame that had been set face-down. He hesitated before picking it up. It was a picture of a young Cartman, bundled up in a thick snowsuit and snow covering his face. He looked pissed. Still, the picture struck a nerve that Kyle didn't like and he set it back down to keep his stomach from churning. Most likely, his mother had taken that picture years ago, on one of the few times she was actually home on a snow day to play with her son. It should have been a comforting memory, but it was clear Cartman hadn't thought that either. </p><p>Uncertainly, Kyle glanced at the one room in the house he'd never been in before, at the same time prickling with curiosity. He approached the door and turned the handle, almost expecting it to be locked. Instead, it opened as easily as any other to reveal what seemed to be the one cleanest room in the house. </p><p>A large king size bed was made at the far side, a tall dresser sat next to the window on the left, and behind the open door was another dresser with a vanity. On that one, however, sat several phallic objects, some lube, and what looked to be a crack pipe with a couple lines of coke next to it. When he was younger Kyle would have made fun of it. Now, he simply looked away and back to the other end of the room with a stab of pity.</p><p>"Are you done snooping yet?"</p><p>Kyle shrieked and jumped around to find Cartman stood in the hallway watching him, hair wet but his same clothes back on. He looked exhausted and his eyes remained on Kyle instead of the room behind him. The redhead stepped forward and pulled the door shut respectfully. "Sorry."</p><p>Cartman offered no reply before walking unsteadily to his room. Kyle thought back to the random apology the brunet had uttered before that had taken him off guard. As long as he'd known the boy, Cartman had not been one to apologize, for anything really. Sure he was drunk and delirious but Kyle couldn't help but think about the statement he'd heard about drunk actions being sober thoughts. He hadn't been around many drunk people in his life to prove this true but it had tripped him up nonetheless. </p><p>He followed Cartman and gestured to the bed. "You need to sleep," he stopped himself before mentioning that that's what Kenny had told him. </p><p>"And who are you to tell me that?" The brunet slumped down into his desk chair. A lot of his trademark mannerisms had returned but his movements were still clunky and his words still slurred slightly. Kyle knew he wasn't going to be sober from just one shower, but at least he could move on his own now. The redhead didn't like helping him anywhere.</p><p>"Someone who knows how to ease the hangover you'll undoubtedly have when you wake up." Kyle advised and crossed his arms, leaning back on the door frame.</p><p>Cartman scoffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're being really… really annoying. You know that?"</p><p>"And you're being really stupid again."</p><p>"I can't think right," the brunet mumbled out of nowhere. He didn't elaborate on the subject, if he'd even intended to in the first place. </p><p>Kyle frowned. "I don't think you were thinking right before the alcohol either."</p><p>Cartman buried his face in both hands again, looking miserable. He was quiet for a moment and Kyle thought he may not offer a reply but then he groaned and said, "I just wanted to forget for a little bit… that's all I wanted." He slouched in his chair, all shriveled up. "And I can't even do that now."</p><p>The redhead looked away, finding it hard to watch. He scoured his brain for something to say but everything was either to stupid or too harsh or too invasive. Cartman was still drunk, as well, and prying into his thoughts now didn't seem fair despite the fact it may be one of his only chances. So change the subject. Ask something a bit less pressing.</p><p>He bit the inside of his cheek. "Kenny's been trying to get a hold of you. Why haven't you answered?"</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye he could see the brunet glance up. "I uh… I left my phone by the car."</p><p>"The car?" Kyle's brows furrowed as he leaned forward a bit. </p><p>"After the funeral." Cartman paused for a long moment. "I went to see it and…" he looked distressed, his fingers fumbling around themselves restlessly and his eyes shifting around the floor below him. </p><p>Kyle leaned closer again. "And?" He pried hesitantly.</p><p>"And nothing. I just forgot it- I don't- agh, quit staring at me-" he hid his face again. </p><p>The redhead frowned. His heart rate had picked up a bit anxiously, as if Cartman's nervousness was rubbing off on him, and it made him uncomfortable. "You need to sleep, Cartman," he repeated. He thought for a second, then added, "I'll leave if you want. Just don't go looking for any more alcohol or punch another tv."</p><p>Cartman only shriveled up more. "I couldn't sleep last night, I keep thinking they're coming to get me, if I don't get a job then-"</p><p>"Hey!" Kyle yelled perhaps a bit too loudly. "Hey, shut up." He held his hands in the air, palms out, as the brunet looked back up at him again. "Don't tell me anything right now. Just go to bed, fatass."</p><p>He looked even more worried about the prospect of trying to sleep but nodded regardless and Kyle returned the gesture before walking out and closing the door without another word. He wasn't sure if he could trust Cartman to do as he'd asked but all he could hope is that nothing else life-altering or dramatic would happen before tomorrow. He needed a breather after all of this.</p><p>&lt;~&gt; </p><p>Kyle had been thinking over Cartman's statement for the past hour. His mother questioned him when he arrived home from something she didn't know about and he wasn't completely sure what to tell her. The truth wasn't bad, but it still felt like something he should keep secret for the time being. So he told her he went out on a run and forgot to let her know. She let him off with a warning, and told him he couldn't drive to a friend's for the rest of the day, which in all honesty he couldn't have cared less about. He barely drove in the first place.</p><p>He was more worried about what the brunet had said about his phone, and Kyle had only guessed what happened a few minutes ago. Now his mother and father were out getting groceries and he had a chance to leave. He decided to take his car in case they were quick and headed just out of town, into the mountains, where Cartman's mother had been shot. He had no idea if the police had come and collected the car yet and honestly he would prefer not to see a murder scene so he hoped they had. </p><p>A couple minutes after first heading into the tree line he turned the corner into the clearing and found it empty, no car in sight. He sighed, relieved. Not knowing where Cartman had left his phone he stopped his car close to the edge and got out to look. It wasn't hard to spot in the sunlight poking through the trees, lying on the ground near the center.</p><p>Over the years Cartman had had the same phone. His mother probably never had enough money left over to get him a new one, and he used it constantly. When Kyle saw it the rush of familiarity was sudden and unexpected. He hadn't thought much about what it was like to be around Cartman regularly again, only how much he dreaded doing so. He considered their relationship over the years as he picked up the phone. </p><p>The two would never have been considered best friends. Yet still Kyle had found out years ago that he was the one of the three that Cartman always called first when he wanted something. At the same time the boy had taken to teasing him particularly over everyone else and back then Kyle had been convinced they were mortal enemies or something. Then again, the brunet's antics had died down dramatically since elementary school. Though, he was still a douchebag and Kyle hadn't got along with him truly once, and he still hadn't after coming back into his life. They had remained, as they always were, seemingly enemies. </p><p>And Kyle kept going back.</p><p>He sighed and turned the phone over in his hand, pushing it into his pocket. He stepped back in his car and turned around to head back into town. The drive was almost shorter despite driving longer than he did on the way up. For how many times he'd done this in the past couple weeks, he'd lost count, he pulled up to Cartman's house. This time, however, he got out of his car and walked up to the doorstep only to set the brunet's phone on the ground and ring the doorbell. In spite of himself he rushed back to his car and sped away.</p><p>As he drove down the road he checked his mirror and caught sight of Cartman at his door, the phone now in his hand, looking right at him. He picked up speed a little bit. If he ever had to acknowledge that he did something random and nice for the brunet to his face he might barf. The only consolation was that now Kyle could text him instead of barging into his house all the time. And that meant less time directly dealing with all of this confusion, and less stress, which was probably the most welcome thing in Kyle's life in months.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. A temporary update (I'm sorry!!)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I wish there was an easier way to format this, lol, it's not a chapter!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I feel really, really bad for not updating for months. In truth I have a few chapters already written past what's published, but I haven't written anything new in months as I've hit a pretty bad writers block. I want to go back and edit up what's already been written but I didn't want to disappoint anyone by taking the story down while I edit it. A lot about this story changes as I've continued writing it and several details I had in mind at the beginning have changed entirely, as well as the entirety of the scene that's written in as the description. Let it be known my writing process is complicated, messy, unorganized, and just downright terrible, but I do pour my heart and soul into these works for days on end which is probably why I get burnt out so easily and won't touch it for months. I'm in a bad spot right now because I've currently been sucked into another fandom and have started writing a story for that and I just feel utterly terrible about neglecting this story and being bad about checking for comments to reply to. I want you to know I've read your comments and I'm so thankful for your support and I'm incredibly glad you guys like this story, it means a lot to get support like this. </p>
<p>With that said, I will get to this story eventually! I promise you that! Most likely what I'll do is work on my Harry Potter story for a while until I get burnt out on that and revisit this story (go back and rewrite some things and then republish it and continue working on it). I adore this book and I've never had any intention of abandoning it, I just struggle so much with finding the motivation and confidence to put it all down and post it for you guys. </p>
<p>So sorry for this random update, but I felt I owed it to everyone to clarify what's been going on for the past months and assure that this story will, at some point, be finished. I love you guys, truly, and thank you so much for the support and the compliments, it means so much ❤️❤️</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter Nine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay we're finally back at it again!! I decided I'm gonna leave this as a WIP and go back and edit it when I'm finished since it's bound to change as I continue writing anyways. Again I'm so sorry for taking so long of a break &gt;_&lt;</p>
<p>(This chapter and up until chapter 12 were already written and just sitting on my docs so the writing still will change once you reach chapter 12, since it's been months)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eric's throat tightened up as he read the messages.</p>
<p>Kenny<br/>-Hey dude<br/>-I saw you leave the funeral early, just wanted to check and see how you're doing :)</p>
<p>-I get it if you don't wanna answer me, that's fine.</p>
<p>-Hey<br/>-I meant what I told you today in school, I wouldn't listen to Stan or even Kyle about the bullshit they tell you. Just don't worry about it rn, okay? I'm here for you man. </p>
<p>-You're not even reading my messages<br/>-Is something wrong?</p>
<p>-Kyle told me you trashed your house<br/>-Look idk if it's worth trying to say anything else at this point but I'm off Wednesday if you wanted to chill at my house for a bit<br/>-Just don't go insulting me again lol</p>
<p>He remembered Kyle saying that Kenny really cared, and at the time Eric hadn't believed him. He kept staring at the words on his screen as if it would make them change and show the truth. </p>
<p>In all honesty he was surprised Kenny hadn't blocked him. When shit had gone down Eric decided not to block anyone in case they came crawling back or if he ever needed to use them for blackmail or something similar in the future, but he figured they might at least block him if he didn't. Stan most likely had, but the brunet didn't care to test the theory.</p>
<p>He bit his lip and swallowed to release some of the pressure in his throat. They're just texts. He might still not even mean it. But his eyes remained on the invite to the blonde's house, skepticism and curiosity floating through him. It probably wasn't worth it, but in spite of himself he clicked to type and wrote out a message slowly. </p>
<p>I can be there anytime-</p>
<p>Shockingly, Kenny replied back within a minute.</p>
<p>-Cartman! <br/>-Where have you been? And why have you been ignoring me?</p>
<p>I wasnt-<br/>Just lost my phone-</p>
<p>-Alright well I'm about to head back in from my break, I'll talk to you tonight okay?</p>
<p>No-</p>
<p>-:/</p>
<p>Eric sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn't want to deal with this. In truth he didn't want to deal with or even do anything right now. He'd rather stay where he was curled up in his blanket where- hopefully- no one would bother him. </p>
<p>He was growing sick of Kyle's constant visits. Not only did he despise the fact that the redhead was seeing him in such a state, but it was uncomfortable to constantly have him showing up and try to shove his way into Eric's private life. Those things belonged to him, especially what he had said the night before. It made his stomach churn just thinking about everything he'd told Kyle. He had half a mind to try and change the locks on his house and block the redhead, but he didn't have any money or a car, and what good would blocking do anyways?</p>
<p>He rolled over to the side and dropped his phone next to him. Looking at it reminded him of the night of the funeral and he'd been trying his best to keep his eyes off it when he wasn't using it. So he shut them. He shut his eyes and tried to block everything out. Every thought, every worry, every inch of paranoia that he'd grown to hate spreading through his veins, he pushed it all away and focused on the darkness behind his eyelids and the way his blanket curled around him, familiar. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep, and wondered just what would happen if he never woke up.</p>
<p>&lt;~&gt;</p>
<p>Eric pulled his jacket tighter around himself as the wind picked up. It seemed especially chilling tonight, reaching deep down into his bones and making him wish he'd never come out to walk. But he kept going no matter how cold he was, completely and utterly unsure of just what was keeping him moving. His entire body felt on edge and out of control when he thought about stopping, so he didn't. He just kept walking.</p>
<p>Behind him, crunches in the snow could be heard clear as day. Someone was following him but he wasn't supposed to see who. The crunching continued from behind, getting louder as they got closer. Eric's heart was pounding, he could barely see through the blizzard, though he wasn't sure when it had come.</p>
<p>Stop. His mind urged. But he felt trapped. Stop, please-</p>
<p>The snow felt like rain, cold, hard drops of rain that soaked him and only made him that much more chilled. By now his hands were frozen, and the world around him started to slow along with his own pace. The crunching was directly behind him now, the howling wind blowing to push whoever it was closer. A hand grabbed his arm and yanked him around, a tall shadow meeting his eyes. Fear poured over him. </p>
<p>"You know what you did," the voice hissed, right in his ear. </p>
<p>"No-" he whimpered. He shut his eyes.</p>
<p>The man in front of him shook him violently. "You know what you did!" He repeated, screaming. "Say it!"</p>
<p>"No!" Eric shoved his hands forward and the man stumbled backwards to land in the snow. In an instant, pain exploded through the brunet's back. He shrieked, head jerking around to meet the eyes he'd only ever seen in a mirror. His own, gleaming back at him with a cool ferocity as the knife was pulled out of his back. </p>
<p>He doubled over as his blood started to cover the snow around him. The man he'd shoved jumped up and pulled out a knife of his own, and after him more shadows crawled out of the snow with knives poised to kill. From every side he was stabbed, over and over and over without stopping. He collapsed to the ground, buried underneath the snow, where all he could see was red. His body felt as if it was on fire. All he could hear was the sickening sounds of the knives entering his skin and coming back out. Flesh being torn, destroyed just as his mother's before him had.</p>
<p>His mother, whose death rested on his hands. Eric Cartman, the cruel boy from South Park who tortured to the point he got himself killed. He smiled and a bit of the blood poured into his mouth. Was it really such a bad way to go?</p>
<p>&lt;~&gt;</p>
<p>Kyle shifted in his desk chair, hand supporting his chin, and frowned at the textbook below him. Already he'd spent more than an hour cramming for his chapter test tomorrow and the headache had come and refused to go away not long after he'd started. The equations just weren't sticking, he kept having to go back and check and every time he missed a step. </p>
<p>He sighed and covered his head with his arms utop the textbook. If it weren't nearly noon perhaps he would try to go back to sleep. But he knew he needed to be productive despite his lack of energy, and that didn't do much to help reassure him that he'd do well on the test. With his luck he'd be tired then too.</p>
<p>Out of nowhere his phone started blaring throughout the quiet room and he jumped with a gasp. He picked it up and stared at the screen with pursed lips. </p>
<p>For the first time in months Cartman's contact gleamed on his screen, setting the redhead on edge. He considered not answering, but he knew that wasn't what he'd promised himself he'd do. Settling on complaining that the brunet had interrupted his homework, he slid his finger over the green button.</p>
<p>"Kyle-" Cartman yelled, breathless, the instant the line opened. </p>
<p>The redhead instinctively froze.</p>
<p>"Kyle- you have your car, right?! Please tell me you have your car!"</p>
<p>He blinked a couple times as his brow furrowed. "Wha- yes, I have it but-"</p>
<p>"Then bring it, god dammit!"</p>
<p>The line went dead and Kyle's mouth fell open. He stared blankly for a moment, trying to make sense of what was happening and why Cartman was calling him in such a panic. He thought he'd heard just about everything he could from the brunet, but never something like that. Something was wrong, and it sounded urgent. </p>
<p>Kyle jumped out of his seat, ran downstairs, and out the door. He heard his father call for him from the living room but decided against stopping. He grabbed his keys and within the next few moments he was on the road and headed to Cartman's house. </p>
<p>As he drove, he wondered what had happened. He'd always doubted the brunet was in danger when he called but now his mother had been murdered and- </p>
<p>He bit the inside of his cheek.</p>
<p>Who was to say Cartman himself wasn't in danger of getting hurt or killed by the same person? He pushed the gas pedal down a bit further. </p>
<p>Within minutes he was coming up on Cartman's road, and in the distance the brunet himself could be seen sat on the pavement in front of his house. Kyle got closer and he could see Cartman had his face buried in his hands and he was rocking back and forth. He must have heard the redhead's car approach because he perked up, eyes wild and terrified, and in an instant he was on his feet.</p>
<p>Kyle stopped, Cartman jumping into the passenger seat before he could even attempt rolling down the window to talk. "Dude, why-"</p>
<p>"Just shut up and drive!" The brunet let out without looking at him. </p>
<p>He frowned. "You know that's not how this goes. Tell me-"</p>
<p>"Please just drive!" Cartman begged sincerely. "I need to get away from here…" His eyes were shut tight, fists clenched, and Kyle could easily see how tense he was. </p>
<p>Kyle bit back an, "Only because you said please," and hesitantly pressed on the gas once again. After a moment the brunet huffed, pulling Kyle's attention.</p>
<p>"I did something bad…" He curled in on himself.</p>
<p>The redhead bit the inside of his cheek. "And?" </p>
<p>"Oh, quit the bullshit-" Cartman groaned and leant back against the seat suddenly. His eyes opened to stare at the roof of the car. "I know I'm a bad person, okay? I know."</p>
<p>Silence poured between them, the only sounds being the undertone of the engine as they drove and the occasional huffing breath. Kyle didn't want to watch the brunet or pry into what he was talking about but yet he did. His curiosity and confusion was getting to him, weighing him down along with the absence of words.</p>
<p>The brunet shifted restlessly in his seat. Out of the corner of his eye Kyle could see him look out the window, at the redhead for a second, back at the roof, then straight ahead. He took a deep breath in. "I killed my mom," he mumbled, almost inaudibly.</p>
<p>Kyle froze. He felt his face pale and the pressure of his foot on the gas release entirely, bringing them to a slow stop. His jaw dropped. A thousand thoughts and worries coursed through his mind, doubt, fear, disbelief, and circling back around again and again. For a moment he couldn't speak or process anything.</p>
<p>He believed he'd known Cartman better than most people in the world, that he knew what the brunet was capable of and what made him tick and how he worked. At one point he may have even said he had Carmtan down to a science. But this… he truly could not even begin to comprehend the possibility of Cartman murdering his own mother. In his mind he saw the evil grin he knew all too well, but this time it sent chills down his spine and made his heart pound hard against his ribcage. He was frozen, in shock, and beyond terrified of the person sitting next to him that at one point he called his friend. </p>
<p>And then Cartman spoke again. He sounded broken.</p>
<p>"The night of the funeral, when I went to the car…" he sighed. "I saw where it happened, all her blood covering the seats and…" his breath hitched for a second and a whimper escaped into the quiet. Once again, he covered his face. "They called me. The people that did it. They said I needed to understand what I'd done to cause it…"</p>
<p>Reality started seeping back in and pushed away the shock. Kyle blinked as he thought back to the night it happened and the car full of whooping boys he'd passed on the streets closer to the outside of town. He nearly gasped. "It was someone you pranked a while ago, wasn't it?" His fingers gripped around the steering wheel to the point they turned white.</p>
<p>Cartman tensed. "I… it's all my fault, Kyle," he whispered, his voice entirely hollow of anything Kyle knew about him.</p>
<p>The redhead's nerves were on fire as he stared ahead. For a moment he'd forgotten they were stopped in the middle of the road but when he tried to move again he almost couldn't. He glanced over at the passenger side, with all his might trying to shove away the sudden urge to hug Cartman. As far as he knew that had never happened before, outside of one incident when Kenny was in the hospital when they were little. Kyle didn't hug people in general very easily. </p>
<p>He pursed his lips and turned back to the road as they began moving again. "Why don't we…" he squinted and grabbed his phone to open up Spotify. "Let's just listen to music. Where are you going?"</p>
<p>"Anywhere away from my house, I don't care," Cartman mumbled in return and Kyle huffed.</p>
<p>The brunet stared out the window, turned to the point Kyle couldn't see his face. Music filtered through the quiet, a bit of a slower and more peaceful song. Kyle could only hope that it might help and this would be over soon. He didn't like the feeling of uncertainty that came with Cartman sitting next to him, ignoring him, after such an emotionally charged exchange. He had to force himself to keep his eyes on the road as he drove, because for the first time (that he could recall) every part of him wanted to get Cartman to look at him and explain what was going on so he could find some way to help. It felt like more than it had before. And he had no idea how to approach that feeling.</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter Ten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>All Eric wanted was for the heaviness in his limbs to go away. He'd gone from barely being able to breathe and struggling to calm his nerves to a low state that left him feeling like he was buried under a weighted blanket. </p>
<p>He'd already tried to get rid of the memory of being stabbed and it hadn't worked. He still felt the cold metal in his skin, down into his bones, making him want to ask Kyle to turn the heat up, but his mind kept telling him he shouldn't. Perhaps before he would have done it himself without hesitation, by now he wasn't sure anymore.</p>
<p>Above all else, he really wished he could stop telling Kyle everything. Part of him felt like he had to, that if he didn't get it out to someone he may explode trying to keep it inside. And the redhead kept showing up so why wouldn't he? But still it was beyond uncomfortable. Every time he said something else he grew more on edge. He didn't know what Kyle would do with the information, whether he'd tell anyone and try to blackmail him or if he was even truly listening in the first place. Wait… but that's something I would do, isn't it? He shut his eyes for a second.</p>
<p>Beside him, Kyle had gone quiet. Whatever music he'd put on Eric had never heard of it, but somehow the melody was almost helping to put him at ease. He tried to focus on it to get his mind to shut up. Within a moment the song slowed down to someone talking instead, about someone and how they were alike and something about death. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kyle glance at him, making him tense. The redhead didn't look back at the road until the chorus started back up again and they approached a turn.</p>
<p>Eric wondered if they'd speak again. He knew at some point he had to go back home, but until then, what? He couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't random or mean and it had been forever since he and Kyle just talked anyways. The idea of doing so felt unfamiliar to him at this point. </p>
<p>He bit his lip as the music changed, fidgeting with his fingers. At least he knew he didn't plan on divulging any more of his thoughts today. Admitting the truth about the boys had been hard enough, it nearly left him sick to his stomach. Caught off guard for a second, he nearly asked Kyle why he had been feeling so panicky recently, but within an instant his brain yanked him away from that thought harsh enough to give him whiplash. No, he couldn't admit that. If the redhead hadn't mentioned it already he most likely didn't care or perhaps hadn't even noticed. But surely he would have, wouldn't he?</p>
<p>They were nearing the edge of town when Kyle's phone rang. Not a word had passed between them for nearly fifteen minutes. Kyle disconnected his phone, pulled to the side of the road, and opened his door. </p>
<p>"Hang on a second, okay?" He said, one leg already on the ground.</p>
<p>Eric looked over at him finally and nodded.</p>
<p>Kyle remained still for a second longer than what seemed normal and then got out and shut the door behind him. He leaned on the side of the car as he brought his phone up to his ear. </p>
<p>The brunet sighed and sank down in his seat. In a way, he'd started to feel better. The change of scenery had washed away the panic, and the cold feeling left over from his dream was receding, but what replaced it was an ache in his stomach and gurgling that made him feel like he might throw up. For the past few minutes he'd ignored it, but now it was worsening and he could hear his stomach growling. He covered it with one arm and gritted his teeth. </p>
<p>A couple minutes later Kyle entered the car again and sighed, leaning on the steering wheel. </p>
<p>Eric pursed his lips. "Who was that?" He tried, to distract himself from the pain.</p>
<p>"Just my parents. You kinda freaked me out when you called me, I left without saying anything."</p>
<p>Somehow, that amused the brunet, and he found himself smirking ever so slightly. "What'd you think, I was dying or something?" He chuckled.</p>
<p>Kyle looked over at him. "Well now I'm kinda worried you might be in danger of that," he mumbled, no doubt referring to the boy's Eric had mentioned. </p>
<p>He frowned and rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, Kyle. Really-" his stomach churned harshly and he shut his eyes, leaning forward a bit. It was a struggle to stop himself from groaning.</p>
<p>Kyle's expression thinned. "When was the last time you ate, fatass? Did you forget to yesterday or something?"</p>
<p>The comment didn't bother Eric by now, and he was too preoccupied to care regardless. He shook his head. "Um… I don't know maybe three or four days ago? I literally can't remember."</p>
<p>The redhead visibly tensed, eyes wide. "Wh- Cartman! Three or four days?!"</p>
<p>"I said I don't know!" He insisted, tossing his hands up. "Y'know, considering all this bullshit I haven't really cared much about eating and I don't have the money for groceries anyways." He looked at Kyle pointedly, expecting him to roll his eyes and move on. Instead he frowned, looked away, and shifted the car into gear again.</p>
<p>Eric sighed. "What are you doing now?"</p>
<p>"Going somewhere to eat," the redhead deadpanned as if it was the most obvious thing ever. He kept his eyes on the road as he turned around to head back into town. </p>
<p>Any reply Eric had stuck in his throat. He watched Kyle for a moment in disbelief, tempted to tell him no and ask to be taken home. But the thought of going back made him even more sick, and a detour was tempting. So despite every bone in his body telling him that this was wrong or out of place or never something he thought they'd be doing, he turned the radio up, looked out the window, and sank even lower into his seat. </p>
<p>After several minutes Kyle glanced at him and spoke up again. "What do you want?"</p>
<p>"You don't need to do this," he mumbled back through gritted teeth, feeling somehow guilty. It was something he hated, he'd never known himself to be guilty about anything and he was feeling it a lot more than normal lately. </p>
<p>"Fine, McDonald's," Kyle huffed, seemingly annoyed. This, at least, Eric was used to. That tone was familiar, the one he kept using recently when his patience was growing thin. </p>
<p>If the brunet was honest with himself Kyle was a little hard to understand. He could always tell when the redhead was annoyed or angry- probably because he'd caused that a lot in his life- but on the surface it didn't seem like Kyle had much else to him. Eric couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him really smile or be enthusiastic about anything. He didn't like how complicated and hard to read Kyle was, it made him unpredictable. And yet still, some part of the brunet was glad it was him that kept showing up and not Kenny or Stan. On some level, perhaps they understood each other.</p>
<p>Focusing on that helped to distract him until they pulled into the McDonald's parking lot. Kyle pulled in close to the side door and the silence after the car shut off was abrupt and almost chilling. </p>
<p>"Come on," Kyle said.</p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah." Eric rolled his eyes and got out first, subconsciously making sure he didn't slam the door shut. </p>
<p>Inside, the redhead fiddled with his wallet, sifting through some cash. Eric pursed his lips. "How much do you have?"</p>
<p>Kyle glanced up. His brows furrowed slightly. "It doesn't matter, get what you want."</p>
<p>Eric looked away. What the hell, how did he-? His thoughts were interrupted by the redhead pushing him forward with the line, which he hadn't noticed had moved. He stepped up and put his hands in his pockets, eyes skimming the menu above the cashier. He frowned. "Just two cheeseburgers and a fry."</p>
<p>Kyle stepped up closer beside him. "Make that a large," he insisted. "And a ten piece for me. Two fountain drinks."</p>
<p>The brunet glared at him but it didn't garner much of a reaction. Kyle simply shrugged. "I'll eat some too." He handed the cashier a fifty and grabbed two cups to go and get drinks. Eric stood and watched the girl count out their change with a familiar urge prickling at the back of his neck. She handed him the money back, Kyle was still over at the drink station.</p>
<p>Eric stepped back and looked down at the bills in his hand. Before he would have pocketed the money without hesitation, probably even taunted the redhead about it and refused to give it back because it was handed to him. He knew that. He knew it. So why was he hesitating now? Kyle was doing something nice for him, seemingly for no reason. But that had never mattered before. Sure, Eric knew right from wrong and he knew what he wanted to do. Now it just seemed like he didn't have the energy to even try. It didn't matter whether it was right or wrong.</p>
<p>His attention pulled upward when Kyle called his name and they met eyes. Eric pursed his lips. "Here," he mumbled and held out the change.</p>
<p>Kyle looked at it and then shrugged once again. "Eh, you can keep it. Use it for food until you can get on your feet."</p>
<p>Eric frowned, knowing very well that Kyle probably didn't expect him to get on his feet anymore than he himself did. So why on earth did he say it? Even the fact that he was letting the brunet keep the money was concerning, if he knew Kyle well enough the redhead would refuse and call him a slew of rude names. He looked back down at it again, at the twenty, ten, five, and several ones. If he only got a little bit each day it could feed him for nearly two weeks. </p>
<p>Maybe Kyle was being too nice.</p>
<p>Nevertheless they sat down on opposite sides of a booth and waited for their food. The redhead pulled out his phone and scrolled for a little white, and Eric just looked out the window at the town around them. He'd forgotten his phone at home. It wasn't long until their food was out, but it was still rather awkward to sit in silence.</p>
<p>Eric pulled out his burgers and stared at them, that sick feeling returning to his stomach. He hadn't realized it had gone away for a little. He could tell Kyle was watching him without looking up but he tried to ignore it, uncomfortable enough already. The cheeseburgers looked less and less appetizing with each passing second.</p>
<p>"So," Kyle said out of nowhere. "Have you tried applying anywhere else?"</p>
<p>"I really don't wanna talk about that shit right now," the brunet hummed. Beneath the table, his fingers clenched and flexed uneasily, a couple of knuckles cracking with the movement. </p>
<p>The redhead was quiet for a long moment before he frowned and sat back against the booth. "Why aren't you eating?"</p>
<p>Eric looked up, disgruntled and frustrated, then picked up a burger. He glared as he took a bite. "There. You happy?"</p>
<p>To his surprise Kyle actually cracked a sort of smile and shook his head. "Just don't talk with food in your mouth, then sure." </p>
<p>Eric rolled his eyes. He didn't want to tell Kyle how just after one bite it felt like his entire mouth was watering to the point it wouldn't stop. It really had been days, and by now he couldn't recall whether the last thing he'd eaten had been chips or crackers, but it didn't matter. He took another bite and tried to hold back scarfing it down messily. </p>
<p>Kyle grabbed a couple fries and absentmindedly ate his nuggets while looking out the window. They didn't talk, yet somehow sitting in silence made it easier to deal with. Eric ended up eating most of the fries by the time they were done and Kyle tossed their trash on the way out. The last thing Eric wanted to do was go home, but the redhead dropped him off anyways, sped away to his own house without another word, and Eric was alone once again.</p>
<p>He remembered he used to like that.</p>
<p>&lt;~&gt;</p>
<p>They were waiting for him when he walked in the door. His mother and father sat on the couch, absentmindedly watching TV until he got home. Kyle internally sighed, knowing he'd agreed to this conversation and there was no backing out of it now. What point was there to do so anyway?</p>
<p>Their eyes turned to him and for whatever reason he felt he might turn to stone. He swallowed and stepped forward.</p>
<p>"So?" His father asked impatiently. </p>
<p>"I'm sorry I didn't say much on the phone," he started respectfully. "I got out of the car but I didn't know if he could still hear me or not."</p>
<p>"It's fine, Kyle," his mother dismissed. "Just tell us what's going on."</p>
<p>The redhead pursed his lips. "He hasn't been dealing with all this stuff well. I kinda got roped in and I told him I'd try to help if I could, y'know, cause it's the nice thing to do. It just… he keeps doing more stupid things. He called me in a panic today and I thought he was in danger or something."</p>
<p>Her eyes went wide. "Was he?! Oh dear, I haven't thought to check up-"</p>
<p>"He's okay, mom!" Kyle held his hands up and took another step forward. "But he's like… changed somehow. I don't know how to explain it. It's weird."</p>
<p>"Well what happened today that got him all freaked out?" His father asked.</p>
<p>"That's the thing. I don't know, he won't tell me anything. When we argue I get bits and pieces but I can't fit them all together. I've been… really confused these past couple weeks." He sighed for real this time, feeling some exhaustion catch up with him. </p>
<p>His mother's expression drooped slightly in pity. She patted the spot next to her on the couch. "Come on, I want you to tell us everything."</p>
<p>Despite the urges to hesitate Kyle found himself walking over and sitting beside her. He knew that sooner or later he'd have to be honest with his parents, but still, his whole life he'd been quiet about a lot of things and his issues with Cartman had, for the most part, been no different. Eventually he was going to have to learn to start telling the truth more often.</p>
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